


Hard Rock Heroes (or, the Relics That Bind)

by MadameHyde



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Music, Alternate Universe - Post-Grad Life, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Angst and Feels, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Dimitri Blaiddyd / Marianne von Edmund, Background Edelgard von Hresvelg / Hubert von Vestra, Background Shamir Nevrand / Catherine, Canon-Typical Violence, Child Abuse, Concerts, Drunken Confessions, Drunken Shenanigans, F/M, Family Drama, Felix Fraldarius is bad at feelings, Felix Hugo Fraldarius Being an Asshole, Heavy Metal Thunder, Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Ingrid Galatea Has the Single Brain Cell, Mature because LANGUAGE, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mentions of Suicide, Minor Mercedes von Martritz/Dedue Molinaro, Mutual Pining, Netteflix and No Chill, Self-Harm, Slow Burn, Someone give these children a hug, Spoilers for Three Houses Blue Lions Route, Sylvain Jose Gautier Being An Idiot, The Rock Band AU No One Asked For, Unresolved Sexual Tension, angst angst angst, did I mention the mafia is also here?, music festivals, no beta we die like Glenn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2020-11-24 11:03:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 41
Words: 140,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20906600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameHyde/pseuds/MadameHyde
Summary: After losing their last singer and a few other things, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid refuse to let their band, Aegis, die. But when they put out a 'Singer wanted' sign, the last thing they were expecting to walk in the door was the tiny dynamo that was Annette Dominic.Cue: chaos, shenanigans, and a touch of sincerity.But when the Fhirdiad Mob comes knocking, Aegis can only do what they do best: turn the amps up to eleven, and play.-A mystery/intrigue Rock band AU disguised as a dry-witted romcom-





	1. The One Where They Get a New Singer

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the Rock Band AU that No one asked for! Enjoy your stay
> 
> This whole thing was inspired by the Amaranthe Song "On the Rocks"
> 
> Now with art by the lovely [ tiffo!](https://twitter.com/thetiffopotamus/status/1202426151689342976)
> 
> And addition to the summary by the lovely [ Star_on_a_Staff!](https://twitter.com/clairvoyancehsu)
> 
> If you like my work, [come hang out on twitter!](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)

Felix checked his phone for the umpteenth time that hour—5:01. They were officially done with this farce, if one of them would only have the balls to say it.

So he did; Felix didn’t mind being  _ that guy.  _ “I think it’s safe to assume no one is showing up.”

“No one has the room immediately after us,” Ingrid said without looking up from her chemistry notes. “We can wait another few minutes.”

Sylvain tapped listlessly on his practice pad, as he had been doing on and off for the past two hours. “I don’t think a few minutes is gonna matter, Ingrid.” A small fill erupted from the rubber surface of the pad; it would be incredible on a full kit. “I just want to know where we went wrong. Was it the flyer?”

“There’s nothing wrong with the flyer,” Felix said irritably. “It’s the _ boar.” _

_ _

The flyer looked like it had been hastily done on Microsoft Word (which it had) and then printed in bulk slightly before it was needed (which it also had).  _ Wanted—singer for hard rock band AEGIS. Must be available for weekend shows and weekly practice. Influences include: Metallica, Coheed & Cambria, A Sound of Thunder, Volbeat, Brothers of Metal. Auditions 2-5 pm on Thursday the 29 _ _ th _ _ in Eisner Hall E256. _

_ _

Ingrid gave a very large, very exasperated sigh. “Dimitri has nothing to do with this.”

“And you know that,” Felix shot back, “how?”

“I think I’m with Ingrid on this one,” Sylvain said. “How’s he supposed to fuck us up from Fhirdiad?”

Felix leveled them both in a withering stare. “By stealing our music? Posting it everywhere? Slapping a new name on it and pretending like that legitimizes him?”

Ingrid had  _ still  _ yet to glance up from her notes, and it was starting to piss Felix off. “I thought you blocked him.”

“I did! Doesn’t mean everyone else has.  _ You  _ certainly haven’t.”

“Anyone want pizza for dinner?” Sylvain abruptly changed the topic before Ingrid and Felix dissolved into a genuine fight. “I think I’m feeling pizza.”

Ingrid finally looked up from her notes to check the time. “There’s chili in the crock pot at home, so, uh, no.” When the time finally registered (5:05. Felix also checked) Ingrid sighed again. “We might as well pack up.”

Sylvain immediately went about shoving his practice pad and drumsticks into a backpack, while Ingrid carefully put away her notes and loose papers. Felix’s guitar had been sitting in its case for the better part of the last 45 minutes or so, so he merely got to his feet and shouldered the black, sticker-covered monstrosity.

“Waste of fucking time,” Felix muttered.

“You’re welcome to stop bitching about singing lead,” Ingrid told him.

That was rich, coming from her. Felix felt his hackles rise as the fight he itched for came sharply into focus. “Same to you.”

In an instant, Sylvain was standing between them, a hand on both Felix’s shoulder and Ingrid’s. “Whoa, now; you’re both just cranky and hungry and you know it. Stop sniping at each other, or at least promise to stay out of the family room for the rest of the night.”

“I’m not sniping!” Ingrid immediately said, but Felix just pinched the bridge of his nose and drew in a deep, painstaking breath.

“Do you ever—” Felix began, only to be cut off by a new voice from the door, calling, “I’m so sorry I’m late! Is this the Aegis auditions?”

Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain all turned at once to find the source of the voice. A very short, very redheaded girl stood in the doorway to the practice room, fiddling with the strap of her bag. She was dressed in an orange-and-blue knee-length skirt and matching cardigan, and looked more like a schoolteacher than a prospective singer in a metal band.

Felix glanced from Sylvain to Ingrid and back to the girl again. Ingrid was wearing a ratty old Halestorm tee shirt and jean shorts, Sylvain was wearing an Iron Maiden shirt he had cut the sleeves off of and board shirts, and Felix hadn’t washed his hair in probably three days (and thus had it pulled back at the crown of his head) and his jeans had holes in the knees. 

“Are you sure  _ you’re  _ in the right place?” Felix asked bluntly.

Ingrid slammed a palm into her forehead. “Already, Felix?”

But the girl—well, woman—in the doorframe only smiled brightly. “I know I don’t look it, but I grew up on Metallica, too.”

Sylvain pulled a face that was one part surprise and one part respect. “Alright, fair enough. You’re… Annette Dominic, right?”

Felix had to hand it to his drummer—he really  _ did  _ know every single woman on campus.

The girl—Annette—nodded. “And you’re…” She racked her brains a moment, and then snapped her fingers as she said, “Sylvain Gautier, right? You had some business classes with Mercedes von Martritz?”

“Alas,” said Sylvain, “my reputation precedes me.” He then turned to the rest of his band. “The blonde girl is Ingrid Galatea, and señor grumpy here is Felix Fraldarius.”

Annette giggled. “Nice to meet you both.”

Felix was so over all of this. “You know  _ Don’t Tread on Me?”  _ he asked in an effort to speed the conversation along. At Annette’s nod, he added, “Good, we use it as a closer sometimes. Let’s hear it, then.”

Ingrid sighed and went to go retrieve her bass from where it leaned against the wall. “Don’t mind Felix, Annette. He’s just…” Ingrid paused, looking for a word. She settled on, “… _ like this.” _

_ _

Felix jammed his guitar cord into their mini amp by way of reply. Ingrid plugged in beside him, and Sylvain sat cross legged on the table behind them, his practice pad in his lap. Ingrid’s bass was teal and green with pickups that were borderline giving out, and was her prized possession. Felix’s electric guitar was a black-and-blue hand-me-down that was  _ his  _ prized possession. It was one of the only things he and Ingrid reliably agreed on.

Felix looked to Sylvain and Ingrid. “We’ll start like halfway through the intro?”

Sylvain gave an experimental drumroll, rearranged his legs, and then played again, apparently satisfied. “Sounds good.”

Felix ran his fingers through the opening without strumming, and then fell into the song’s most famous chord progression. It only took Sylvain and Ingrid a moment to follow suit, and then they all looked to Annette. It sounded empty without Sylvain’s whole kit to follow behind, but there was nothing so comforting as playing Metallica. It was like the metalhead’s equivalent to warm cookies and milk.

Felix was always counting, and so it was Ingrid who cued Annette in. “Alright, Annette. Ready… go!”

She nodded, and then launched: “ _ Liberty or death…” _

_ _

Felix was immediately struck by the simple, obvious fact that Annette was  _ good. _ She was well trained, and her tone was clear and resonant, with beautiful, open vowels and crisp consonants. However, her voice was sweet and high, and it was rapidly apparent that regardless of her preferences, it might not matter in the grand scheme of things.

Abruptly, Annette stopped, holding up her hands. “Sorry, sorry!” Felix and Ingrid immediately cut the sound, and Sylvain followed a half second later. “I’m sorry, I just… I just came from pedagogy and I have to go tutor a bunch of twelve-year-olds in like an hour.” She gestured to her clothes, and Felix snorted when he realized the schoolteacher vibe had been right. “And I’ve been going since five this morning, but I really,  _ really  _ wanted to try out, and…”

“If you need a minute,” Ingrid inputted, not unkindly, “go for it.”

“Okay, okay, thank you, hold on!” Annette disappeared back out the door and down the hall.

The current members of Aegis glanced to each other, words somehow unable to encapsulate the sheer bafflement permeating room E256. Felix opened his mouth to say something, but even he couldn’t exactly put his finger on what the fuck was going on.

Annette reappeared a few moments later, looking somewhat calmer. “Okay, okay, I’m sorry, can we start over?”

Sylvain counted them in, and Felix and Ingrid picked up the beginning again. The chords came easily to Felix’s fingers, shapes and strumming locked into muscle memory by this point. His mind began to wander for lack of stimuli.  _ This girl looks familiar. Have I seen her before?  _ A smaller, even more private voice in the very back of Felix’s mind, added,  _ She’s really cute. _

And this time, when Ingrid cued her in, Annette straightened her spine and snarled.

For a moment, Felix thought she looked ridiculous. But then he  _ heard  _ it—the grit, hiding beneath the sweet, clear notes. There was power and fury lurking beneath her sweet face, and more energy than her tiny frame could hold. Felix felt a grin bloom across his face, and he turned to catch Ingrid’s eye. She gave him a nod, a grin slashed across her face, too. They didn’t even need to consult Sylvain; the table had creaked under the shift in his weight that signaled he was paying attention.

The final “Don’t tread on  _ me!”  _ rang throughout the little room with an aura of finality. It was all Aegis could do to just stare at this little redheaded dynamo that had wandered into E256 on this hot August afternoon.

“You’re in,” Ingrid, Sylvain, and Felix all said immediately.

Annette blinked in surprise. “Really? Wow, okay!”

Ingrid immediately launched into details: “We usually meet for practice on Thursday nights, does that work?”

Annette pulled a face, her button nose scrunching up, and Felix thought it might honestly be the cutest thing he’d ever seen. He immediately shook the thought away and busied himself with unplugging the amp.

“I’m in grad school right now,” Annette said, “and I have a night job to help pay for it, plus some other freelance stuff, so I’ll need to talk to them about moving my schedule around. The flyer said shows are weekends mostly…?” At their nods, she added, “I can request off with enough notice to get someone to cover. Ooo, this is so exciting! I wish I could stay but I have to catch a bus to tutoring…”

Ingrid managed to exchange numbers with their new singer before the redhead took off running down the halls, leaving a bewildered Aegis in her wake.

“What… just happened?” Felix said.

“For once,” said Sylvain, “same.”

Ingrid finished saving Annette’s number in her phone, and then tucked it away in her pocket. Then her shoulders sagged in relief. “We have a new singer, is what just happened.”

A knock came from the door, and this time it was a mousy-looking freshman who exuded timidity. “Um, are you guys about done? I’m supposed to have this room at 5:30…”

Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain had never packed up and bolted so fast.


	2. The One Where Sylvain Burns Dinner

The first time Annette showed up for band practice was a complete disaster. 

Ingrid’s lab had run late, and so she wasn’t even home when they were supposed to start. Sylvain had been in charge of dinner, which had gotten burned to hell when one of his exes showed up threatening to tell everyone he was a “limp-dicked skank” if he didn’t do something-or-other, which of course prompted Sylvain to go try to calm her down (and then they somehow ended up his bedroom). And that was about the point that Felix had gotten home from work, and he had then, without even changing out of his dress clothes, tried to salvage whatever casserole Sylvain had been trying to make as the smoke alarms screamed overhead.

And then Annette had knocked. 

“Hi, Felix!” she had said. “I was concerned I didn’t have the right house. Wait, you look exhausted. Is everything okay?”

“No.” He gestured for her to come in behind him. 

Which was how they both came to be standing over the blackened, charred mess in a 9x13 on the kitchen counter. It smelled awful, to the point that Felix’s eyes burned in its presence, and it looked even worse. Maybe it had once been lasagna? Chicken and rice?

“Fucking Sylvain,” he muttered. 

“Maybe it’s still salvageable?” Annette said, tentatively poking at it with a wooden spoon. 

It came away black. 

“Nope,” said Felix, “fuck it.” He was on the phone with Ingrid in less than thirty seconds. “Where are you?”

“I just got to my car,” she said, “lab ran over. Why?”

“Do us all a favor and pick up something on your way home, cause Sylvain fucking burnt dinner.” He paused. “Scratch that, Sylvain burnt dinner _fucking.”_

Ingrid sighed heavily into the receiver, even as Annette laughed from over by the counter. “Must you _always _be so charming?”

Felix clicked his tongue against his back teeth. “It’s a gift.”

Another sigh. “Yeah, I’ll pick up Red Dragon on the way home. Do you want your usual?” 

“Sure. But I’m not asking Sylvain what he wants, so he’s stuck with whatever you decide to get him.”

“Fair.” Ingrid paused, and Felix heard the dinging of her seatbelt alarm in the silence. “Is Annette there? Does she want anything?”

Felix turned towards his brand-new singer and pulled the phone away from his mouth. “You want anything from Red Dragon?”

“Oh, no,” said Annette immediately, “I already ate.”

Felix nodded, and then said to Ingrid, “Nah, she’s good.”

“Okay. Be there in probably half an hour?”

“Alright. We’ll get the room set up.” Felix clicked the line dead. “Well, Annette, do you mind helping set up the basement? It’s where we practice, usually.”

Annette beamed, and it was blinding as the sun itself. Felix practically felt his eyes water. Or maybe that was from the remains of their dinner? “Sure,” she said, “no problem.”

“Great. I’m going to go out on comfy pants, and I’ll meet you down there. It’s the door next to the bathroom over there.” He gave a somewhat vague gesture across the family room. 

And so Annette followed directions and, after tripping over an inexplicably sharp coffee table, found herself standing in the least dingy basement she’d ever seen. 

The lights were bright and the walls were covered in acoustic paneling. A desktop computer sat on a desk that took up most of the wall beside the door, and a drum kit with sandbags in the kick drum took up most of the far wall. Scattered throughout the rest of the room were a beat-up coffee table that looked like it was frequently dragged to and fro, a comfortably worn couch, and some saggy bean bag chairs. There were also more amps and pedals lying around than one band could possibly need, and cables crisscrossing the floor.

It was honestly incredible. 

Felix appeared a few minutes later, dragging in both a sticker-covered guitar case and a disgruntled Sylvian. The three of them got to work setting up amps and cables, and by the time Ingrid appeared with dinner, everything else was ready. 

Ingrid passed out the take-out containers (“Double hot pepper chicken for you, Felix, and Mongolian beef for you, Sylvain.”) and the newly formed Aegis sat around and shot the shit for as long as it took to scarf down dinner. If Felix didn't know any better, he’d have almost said it was downright pleasant.

But that was how, almost an hour and a half after they were supposed to have started, Aegis sat down to practice. 

“How do you want to do this?” Ingrid asked Annette. “You basically have to learn our entire setlist.”

“Depends.” Annette chewed on her bottom lip in thought. “For covers, you can just text me a list of songs and I’ll learn them on my own time. Do you write your own stuff, too?”

“Yeah,” said Felix. “We have an EP of some of it.”

“It’s on Spotify,” Sylvain piped up helpfully from behind his drum kit. “It’s called _Lance of Ruin.”_

Annette nodded and set about digging through her bag. She produced a composition notebook a moment later, and then began taking notes. “_Lance...of Ruin_… okay.” She looked back up at the other three expectantly. 

“If you do listen to it,” Ingrid added, a touch warningly, “don’t feel like you need to sound like our old singer.”

“You couldn’t, anyhow,” Felix said. “He was a man.”

Annette giggled as Ingrid threw a pillow at Felix, who dodged with practiced dexterity. “Well in that case, will you hate me if I ask you to transpose stuff?” Annette asked. 

“Of course not!” Ingrid said immediately.

“A little bit,” said Felix honestly.

“I don’t care!” Sylvain said brightly, giving a little “buh-dum tss” on the kit.

Annette giggled—“Y’know what, that’s fair.”—even as Ingrid geared up to throw something else at Felix. 

They spent the next two hours or so trying to remember all the songs they liked to cover (“Have ever done _Enter Sandman_?” “Do we _want _to?”) and listening to their own EP to familiarize Annette with their work. 

It was a strange thing, hearing oneself in a recording. Felix could still hear all of his fuckups, the sour notes and missed strings, and although the band overall sounded pretty good, hearing Dimitri’s voice again hurt more than he had been prepared for. 

_Stand up as one,_

_We have nothing to hide!_

_Into the night,_

_Together we ride!_

_There’s no holding back,_

_And we couldn’t if we tried._

_Just drink in the rage—_

_Together, we ride! _

They were Glenn’s words, once shared openly and in good faith. Aegis had inherited them when the Black Iron Spurs had broken up, but that bastard Dimitri had gone nuclear and then stolen them for his new band. Hearing Dimitri’s voice and Glenn’s words made Felix’s heart twist and fury pool in his throat, a _lot _worse than he'd prepared for.

Because even now, from a hundred miles away, Dimitri was still clinging desperately to the older brother he’d never had—and frequently stolen from Felix.

And Felix “Fuck You” Fraldarius would never, _ever_ forgive him for it--let alone forget.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "What Happened in Wyoming," by Envoi


	3. The One Where Felix Does The Unthinkable

It was several weeks before Aegis felt like a band again, but it wasn’t an unpleasant road back. As Annette learned their songs and they learned to play together, everyone (Annette included) was pleasantly surprised to find that it _worked. _

There was nothing more disheartening than knowing that no matter how much you loved something, it wasn’t meant to be. But Annette’s voice, clearer than Felix or Ingrid’s could ever hope to be, lent a sharp edge to melodies desperately in need of power. It was a different kind of feel than Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain were used to dealing with, bit it grew on them. 

“Like the taste of wine,” Sylvain had said one night. 

“Or a tumor,” Felix had said back. 

Ingrid had smacked the both of them. 

The one thing that Felix feared he would never exactly grow used to was hearing his words coming out of Annette’s mouth. She was so cute and energetic, so bright and full of life. The first time she’d sung the word “fuck,” Felix had almost lost his shit, it was so incredibly, hilariously _wrong. _

Sylvain _actually_ had, and they’d had to pause band practice for a good ten minutes while their drummer regained what passed for his composure. 

But even the cursing, Felix had grown used to. It was just that he would never be comfortable getting _his own songs _stuck in his head. This had never happened when he practiced them himself, or when Ingrid sang for them. And Felix could barely even remember what Dimitri’s voice sounded like, offhand, anymore. But Annette’s voice and his words echoed in his skull like a million bouncy balls in a metal room. It was irritating, captivating, and also a little bit frightening, all at once. What in the hell was going on?

They were getting to be a decent ensemble, sure. But it wasn’t until the first true weekend of fall that they became a band. 

They’d had to switch practice to Friday night because of Annette’s work schedule, which Felix and Ingrid hadn’t had a problem with, but Sylvain had complained about having to cancel a date. Which meant he was antsy all through practice, jittery and unfocused. 

And when they had made it through an entire Aegis original with Annette and it sounded _good, _Sylvain had thrown down his sticks and announced, “We’re celebrating!”

Felix eyed him warily. “Do we want to know what you have in mind?”

“Of course you do!” Sylvain set a jokingly wounded hand to his heart. “I’m the only reason y’all have any fun around here.”

“That is blatantly untrue,” Ingrid argued. “I’m the reason we have bad movie nights.” 

“Come on,” said Sylvain, sliding out from behind his drum kit and rounding on his friends. “Up you go.”

“Holy shit, I can walk,” Felix barked when Sylvain tried to drag him bodily upright. 

“Then do it!” Sylvain said. “Come on. Move it, Fraldarius! We’re going out.”

“You just don’t want to practice ‘cause we threw off your night,” Ingrid said, now fighting Sylvain’s dragging insistence. 

“Have fun!” Annette said brightly, waving to Sylvain and Ingrid in their tangle of limbs. 

Sylvain extracted a finger to point firmly at Annette, as if to pin her place. “Uh, you’re coming too, new band mate.”

Annette’s face fell first into shock and then—Felix wasn’t sure if he originally read it correctly but no, there was no mistaking it—panic. “I can’t go out dressed like this!” She gestured to her work-appropriate long skirt and conservative sweater. “Really, I don’t want to be any trouble.”

“You can borrow clothes from me if you need,” Ingrid said, and immediately regretted the offer when Sylvain pounced. 

“See? Even Ingrid wants to go! We practice all the time; we need to let loose a little!”

_“No,” _said Felix. 

“We need to re-stake our claim at the Golden Deer!” Sylvain argued. “We haven’t been back since…” Even Sylvain struggled putting to voice all that had happened between Aegis and their former singer. “...y’know, Dimitri left and all.”

Felix felt his hackles raise at his mention. “And you think today is going to change anything?”

“Today,” proclaimed Sylvain, “will change _everything.”_

And that was how the four of them ended up huddled up in the back of an Uber together on the way to the band’s favorite bar.

“Don’t worry about it,” Felix told Annette for probably the third time on their short trip. “It’s like a twelve-dollar Uber.”

“But are you—?”

“_Yes_,” Felix interrupted, irritated. “I am sure.”

“I wonder who’s playing tonight,” Sylvain interjected. 

“Maybe Aymr?” Ingrid grunted, shifting in discomfort. She had, through no fault of her own, ended up with Sylvain’s heavy ass sitting directly in her lap. “Or the Watchers?”

“I hope it’s not the Watchers,” Felix grumbled. “I don’t need Dorothea Arnault winking at me all evening.”

“Uh, she’s winking at me, bro,” Sylvain said with a showstopping grin. “You’re just standing next to me.”

“Ugh,” said Ingrid, shifting again and rolling her eyes. 

To everyone’s surprise, Annette then piped up, “Is this the part where we learn she’s actually winking at _Ingrid?”_

Felix and Sylvain roared with laughter, while Ingrid howled an indignant: “She _better_ not!”

When they strolled through the door a few minutes later, Felix was hit square in the chest with the overwhelming feeling of _home._

It wasn’t one he felt very often, ever since his older brother had died. Home had become a house, “dad” had become “the old man,” and music had become a painful knife in the ribs. The only place he ever really felt okay was with Ingrid, Dimitri, and Sylvain, and even then, it was as tumultuous a home as any other he had known, especially since Dimitri had left them.

But the Golden Deer? The shitty dive bar with sticky barstools and a sturdy stage in the back? Whose bartenders poured drinks extra strong and whose regulars were all friends? Where everyone knew he and his band by name, just as they knew everyone else’s?

_That _was home.

“Aegis!” Hilda, the pink-haired bartender, had come out from behind the bar to grab as many of them as she could in a fierce bear hug. “Oh my god, it’s been _ages!”_

“Hi, Hilda,” Felix grunted, trying to shove her away.

Sylvain beamed, and squeezed her back. “Good to see you!” 

“Long time no see,” Ingrid said, politely patting Hilda’s back a few times.

Hilda pulled away a moment later, putting her hands on a set of rockin’ hips. “First round is on Claude,” she declared, “since I know he missed you fuckers, too.” A grin spread across her face as she added, “Ooo, let me see if I can still guess.” She pointed to Felix with one long, pink nail. “You want an IPA.” And then to Sylvain. “_You _want a Long Island.” And then to Ingrid. “And you want… oh, a Moscow Mule.”

Lastly, she turned to Annette, and cocked her head as she studied the little redheaded woman. Over Annette’s shoulder, Ingrid was shooting warning daggers at Hilda, as if daring her to comment on her stature or borrowed clothes. 

Hilda opted for: “Are you even old enough to drink? I feel like I should be serving you juice!”

“Vodka cranberry is fine,” Annette muttered, tugging at her tartan skirt.

Hilda flashed them a smile almost as dazzling as Sylvain’s. “You know where to find me!”

Ingrid grabbed Annette and found the group a table, while Sylvain and Felix went to snag their drinks from the bar. 

Sylvain leaned over the bar with a charming grin--“Open us a tab, would you, Hilda dear?”--and passed her his credit card.

“You’re a dumbass,” Felix said immediately. 

“Eh.” Sylvain shrugged. “I just got paid today and we already paid rent for the month. It’ll be fine.”  


Felix glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were out of earshot of the girls. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Annette, does it?” The thought irritated him more than it ought to.

“Why do you want to know?” Sylvain took a long drag from his drink as they waited for the others.

“Because I know you,” Felix said, a little too quickly.

“Oh?” Sylvain’s eyebrows rose into his riotous hairline. “Do mine ears deceive, or doth our Little Felix have a--_oof!” _He cut himself off when Felix slammed a bony elbow into his stomach.

“Shut up,” Felix growled.

But Sylvain’s grin only grew to Cheshire-quality. “But you’d tell me if you did, right?”

Felix shot him a dirty look, and then snatched his beer, Ingrid’s mule, and Annette’s cocktail from the bar. He held the three of them in the practiced triangle of the former server as he began to carefully cross the room, not caring if Sylvain followed.

“Felix!” Sylvain called. “Hang on! I was mostly joking!”

The instant the boys were in earshot, Ingrid announced, “Did you guys know Annette has a dog?”

“What?!” Sylvain was immediately invested. “No! What kind of dog?”

“He’s a grumpy old bulldog,” Annette said embarrassedly, flipping her phone around to show the boys. 

And sure enough, there was a photo of the grumpiest, droopiest bulldog Felix had ever seen. Slobber was pooling at its feet and it looked like it was built more solidly than most apartments. It was so ugly, it honestly circled back to adorable.

Annette grew even redder when she added, “His name is Crusher.”

Felix burst into startled laughter as Sylvain said, “Holy shit, that’s incredible!”

“Mercedes and her boyfriend help take care of him when I’m not around,” Annette said, gazing fondly at the dog for a moment before putting her phone away. “But beneath the grumpy, he’s the sweetest thing!”

Ingrid glanced at her very sour, very grouchy guitarist. “Sounds like someone else I know.”

Felix threw a coaster at her. 

“Good evening, everyone!” came a voice from the stage. 

“Aymr!” Ingrid punched a triumphant fist in the air. “Called it!”

“We’re Aymr,” continued the white-haired lead singer as she idly clacked her long, black nails against her guitar, “and we’re here to claim your souls!”

The goth rock band struck up their most famous song, _The Winter War, _and Aegis lost themselves in the familiar, heady rush of a live show. 

_Stand and fight_

_Or fall, and die,_

_There’s no end_

_No alibi._

_Winter’s come, _

_The frozen throne_

_Lost in thoughts, _

_All alone._

Edelgard von Hresvelg’s smooth alto cut across the clamor of the dive bar. She held herself like an Empress, tall, proud, and Better Than You (™ pending). She commanded attention in the instinctual way of a natural-born-frontwoman, and it was all everyone else could do not to just stare.

“Oh, she’s _good,” _Annette murmured, her voice small and nearly lost under the band.

“Mmm-hmm,” agreed Sylvain and Felix immediately.

“All the better to learn from,” Ingrid pointed out, and Annette brightened a little.

A few songs later, Sylvain thumped his empty glass down and announced, “I’m out. Who needs another?”

“I do!” said Ingrid cheerfully.

Felix held up a finger, drained the bottom third of his beer, and then slammed the empty glass back down on the table. “Yup, same.”

But Annette tried to wave him off. “I’m good, thanks.”

“Whoa, no,” Sylvain said. “This is a celebration and also my fault, remember? I’m buying this round. Whaddya want?”

“No!” said Annette, this time with much more force. “You’re not paying for me! I already owe Felix for--”

“For the last time,” Felix interrupted, thoroughly irritated, “you don’t owe me shit.”

“Fine!” Annette said. “You’re still not paying for me, Sylvain!”

“If it helps,” Ingrid said, “we do this for each other all the time. It really isn’t a big deal to us.”

Annette made a face. “I just don’t like owing anyone anything.”

“If you weren’t broke,” inputted Felix’s tongue faster than his brain, “he wouldn’t insist.”

Silence fell across their table, although the bar itself was far from silent.

Several emotions filtered across Annette’s face until it settled on _fucking angry. _“You’re a dick, Felix Fraldarius!” 

And she shoved her chair away from their table with enough force to rattle their glasses.

For a moment, it was all Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain could do to stare after her in mute, tipsy shock. And then Ingrid found her voice: “You go apologize _right now, _Felix!”

“Don’t be a dumbass,” Sylvain was chanting under his breath, “don’t be a dumbass, don’t be a dumbass…”

Felix got to his feet and, smacking Sylvain upside the head on the way, chased a certain head of red hair across the bar and out the door. The temperature appeared to have dropped since the sun went down; he was shivering in his Rise Against shirt. It would almost be time to break out his favorite jacket soon--the blue, fur-lined one he’d inherited from Glenn--and the thought would ordinarily bring some small amount of, if not comfort, exactly, then calm. But at the moment, Felix had his eye fixed on a certain, tiny singer of his.

“Annette!” He was immediately forced to dodge a small, glowing projectile when she turned to stare him down. It took him a second to realize, “Did you just throw a lit cigarette at me?”

Annette’s lips pursed into a thin line. “I meant to throw the lighter.”

The smoker standing beside her harrumphed and snatched his lighter back, leaving Felix and Annette to stare each other down on the sidewalk, alone.

Annette’s blue-eyed glare was formidable, but Felix’s amber one was absolutely scalding. But she held his gaze, chin up, and didn’t say a word (which, from what he had learned of her in the past month or so, was probably killing her on the inside).

Felix surprised them both when he said, “Alright, I know it wasn’t the most eloquent way to say it. I’m sorry for that.”

Annette’s face softened, just a little. Her arms unfolded from across her sternum, and the sternness in her demeanor fell away. “‘I’m sorry I called you a dick,” she said.

“Don’t be,” Felix said, “I am one.”

Annette snorted so hard she hiccup-laughed. It was the most endearing, inelegant noise Felix had ever heard. 

“The point is,” he hurriedly continued rather than dwell on it, “you are not the first woman Sylvain has ever bought a drink for--not even counting Ingrid--and you won’t be the last, probably just tonight.”

Annette shifted uncomfortably in her borrowed skirt and black t-shirt, drawing attention to the fact that one, that skirt was well above her knees, and two, she was probably freezing. Felix realized he had never seen that much of her skin before, given that she was usually dressed for work whenever he saw her. He tried not to stare at the milky skin of her thighs and instead focus on her face but _god, _was it hard.

“I don’t want to burden anyone,” Annette said softly. 

“You aren’t,” Felix said. “Plus even if you were, do you think we wouldn’t tell you?”

“I think Ingrid would make you swear to silence, and Sylvain would cheerfully ignore it.”

Felix blinked a few times. How had she already pinned them down so well? “Look,” he said after another moment, “I know you know who my family is. The Fraldarius from Fhirdiad?”

“Yeah.” Annette nodded, almost apologetically. “Only... you’re not what I’d expect, from a family that loaded.”

Felix’s face grew tight. “That’s because the family fortune isn’t paying for shit--I went to Garreg Mach University on scholarship, survived on kidney beans and the tips I made as a server, and found a decent enough day job after college for the rest. Trust me, Annette. I get it. Sylvain and Ingrid do, too, but those aren’t my stories to tell you.”

Her mouth fell open into a soft “Oh.” Another moment passed, and she added, “Did something happen?”

Felix knew what that meant—_did you get disowned, or something? _The answer was far more complicated. “Something like that. But it isn’t like it’s some big sacrifice. In most ways, it’s a hell of a lot easier not to have to answer to my Dad.”

Annette winced, at that. “Be thankful you still have one.”

Felix filed that one away for future reference, but pressed on. “Point is, you’re not a burden just ‘cause life dealt you a shitty hand. Let us make your life easier.” He almost said _please, _but that felt like laying it on just a _bit _too thick. “It’s what friends are for.”

Something wet glittered in the corners of Annette’s eyes. “Are we friends?”

It felt like he’d been physically wounded. “_Ouch,” _said Felix, with feeling.

Annette’s eyes widened. “Sorry, sorry, sorry! That isn’t… I didn’t…” She cleared her throat. “I _meant, _it feels like I’m third wheeling a lot, even though there are already three of you.”

“Fourth wheel is just a car,” Felix pointed out, and Annette giggled. He decided he really liked the sound. “You’re in the band,” he added. “Of course you’re in the friend group.”

She stared at him in mute astonishment for a long moment, so unlike the way she had been staring only a few minutes ago. “Okay.”

“Now come drink with us.” Felix held out his hand, a peace offering. “And don't ask me to do anything emotional for at least a week; I’ve hit my quota for a while.”

Annette laughed again, and took his hand. Felix was not a big man, but even his spindly fingers dwarfed Annette’s tiny ones. “Okay, okay, understood.” She squeezed his hand, and then let go.

They began to head back inside, and Annette piped up, “Oh, and Felix?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for telling me all that.”

Felix stubbornly ignored the blush rising in his face. “Don’t mention it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're going to pretend like they live in a universe where everyone is a tad less tone deaf
> 
> Today's chapter brought to you by "Seal the Deal" by Volbeat


	4. The One Where Annette Has An Idea

One morning, as Felix found himself heading to work with 20 minutes to spare somehow, he decided to stop at the hipster coffee shop near his office, rather than subject himself to the office’s collection of mediocre K-cups. 

He immediately regretted this decision when he heard a voice from behind him in line say his name. 

As it turned out, it was none other than Edelgard von Hresvelg. 

“Do you work around here?” she asked politely. 

Felix nodded. “Yeah, over in that office park off of 3rd. You?”

Edelgard nodded. It was very strange seeing her in a smart red dress and blazer, instead of her usual, goth rock getup. “Yes, I’m over with Bergliez and Sons.”

Felix nodded politely, and hoped that would be the end of the conversation. 

It wasn’t. 

“It was good to see Aegis at the Golden Deer the other night,” Edelgard said, and Felix got the feeling she genuinely meant it. “We were all starting to wonder if you’d broken up.”

“No,” said Felix, “just recalibrating.”

The conversation was forcibly paused when Felix got up to the counter and ordered a truly grotesque amount of black coffee and Edelgard ordered some kind of espresso-laced monstrosity that made the barista’s hand shake when she wrote the name on the cup. 

“So have you played any shows yet?” Edelgard asked as they stood off to the side, waiting. 

“Not yet,” Felix admitted, somewhat painfully. “We’re just now getting to the point where we can.”

Something sharp glittered in Edelgard’s eyes, and Felix did not like it. “Would you be interested in playing Carnage this year?”

Felix’s brow furrowed. The Carnage Fest was the biggest Halloween event of the season, put on every year by Garreg Mach University as a charity fundraiser. It was a cross between a fall festival and a music one, with midway games, food trucks, and a hell of a lot of entertainment. Every act got into the Halloween spirit, playing spooky songs and dressing in black, and Aymr played every year. Felix and Sylvain had always wanted to, but Dimitri had always stopped them because of the massive crowd, and Ingrid was too nice to make him. 

“Didn’t we miss the audition cut off?” he hedged. 

“Yes,” said Edelgard, “but my uncle is in charge of organizing it every year. I can put in a good word for you…?”

Felix’s amber eyes narrowed sharply. “What do you _want_, Edelgard?”

She made a face, but at least had the decency to know she’d been called out. She leaned closer to Felix to announce, quietly, “Atrocity is playing.”

Fury lit up Felix’s chest and all the way up through his eyes. “Talk to your uncle,” he said immediately. 

Edelgard smiled, but it was predatory. “I thought you’d be interested in that part.”

“Given that Dimitri was the reason we never played Carnage in college? Yes. _Excruciatingly_.”

Edelgard’s icy blonde eyebrows arched delicately at the news. “I see.” At the questioning look she received, she added, “Dimitri… hasn’t been himself ever since...” She trailed off, wincing just a little. “Well. You know.”

“Yep,” said Felix through gritted teeth. He’d forgotten, Edelgard was technically Dimitri’s step-sister. She probably saw more of him than Felix, Ingrid, or Sylvain did, especially these days.

For a moment, Felix was almost saved by the arrival of a coffee order on the bar. But somehow—honestly, how did the universe _do _this?—it was Edelgard’s order. She took a long, satisfied sip of her arrhythmia-inducing drink, but didn’t move. 

“I’m sure you know better than I do, anyhow,” Edelgard added, much to Felix’s surprise. 

But he only gave an overexaggerated shrug in response. Where the hell was his order? “I wouldn’t, actually. He fucked off to Fhirdiad last year and none of us have seen him since.”

“I see.” Edelgard sounded… almost sad. She recovered quickly, “Well, in any event, I’ll talk to my uncle and see what he says, and let you know?” Something else seemed to occur to her. “I don’t think I have your number.”

“I know I don’t have yours,” said Felix. 

They passed off their phones to make the exchange and finally, _finally _they called Felix’s name. He sarcastically cheersed Edelgard’s cup on the way out.

But the rest of the drive to work, Felix’s stomach was churning with both excitement and fury. He’d genuinely always wanted to play Carnage, it was just that he’d always been vetoed. But Aegis was different now, and he was different, now. He knew Sylvain was on his side, and Ingrid would be if they could just get Annette onboard. Would it be hard to get Annette onboard? Felix genuinely had no idea. 

The instant he sat down at his desk, Felix was in the band group chat:

**Felix: **so guess who may have just gotten us in to play Carnage?

He set his phone down to start checking work emails or something, but forgot that unlike normal people, Sylvain texted in bursts

**Sylvain:** whAt???

**Sylvain: **YOU???

**Sylvain: **how???

**Ingrid: **I would also like to know?

**Annette**: you mean the one Garreg Mach puts on every year?

**Felix: **yes, yes, hang on, hang on again, and also yes

**Annette**: ooo!! The symphonic choir sang at Carnage when I was a junior. We did a bunch of creepy Halloween music. It was super fun!!

**Sylvain:** are you telling me

**Sylvain:** that we have a chance to play Carnage

**Sylvain: **WITH A SINGER WHO ACTUALLY WNATZ TO?!?!?

**Annette: **of course I want to! Playing shows is why I joined the band ~ 

**Sylvain: **Marry me?

**Felix: **no

**Ingrid: **no

**Annette: **lol no

**Sylvain: **alas, I shall drown my sorrows in DRUMS

**Sylvain:** but seriously felix, how the hell?

**Felix: **well I ran I to Edelgard at the coffee shop 

**Ingrid: **random place to find her

**Felix: **right tho?

Here, Felix had to pause and pull up Adobe, lest someone (like his boss) discover he wasn’t actually doing work. She stopped by his desk for a moment, asking about projects he’d finished last week and already sent out, and then smiled and moved on. 

By the time Felix was able to look at his phone again, the group chat had blown up again 

**Sylvain: **I mean, goths drink coffee too

**Annette: **[crying laughing emoji]

**Sylvain: **Felix?

**Sylvain: **buddy?

**Sylvain: **oh axe-master?

**Sylvain: **ARE YOU IGNORING US

**Sylvain: **FFFEEEEELLLLIIIXXXX

**Ingrid: **he’s gonna start if you keep that up

There are times when Felix honestly loved Ingrid. He really did. 

**Felix: **I’m at work, guys. 

**Sylvain: **oh right

**Felix: **anyway, she offered to talk to her uncle to get us into carnage since we’re back on the scene 

**Ingrid: **why would she do that?

**Sylvain: **surely not out of the kindness of her black heart?

**Ingrid: **just so you know, Sylvain, if I could actually see you, I’d throw this chemistry textbook at you 

**Sylvain: **:D

**Felix: **because atrocity is playing 

That shut the group chat up. It stayed silent so long that Felix debated actually starting work for the day. 

But then:

**Sylvain: **she better get us in. Holy shit

And _that _was why, if pressed, Felix would call Sylvain his best friend. He just _got _it. 

**Annette: **who’s atrocity?

**Ingrid: **Dimitri Blaiddyd’s new band. 

**Annette: **ah

**Annette:** lets kick ass!

Felix might even love Annette, too.

**Sylvain: **that’s the spirit!

**Ingrid: ***spirits 

**Annette: **[crying laughing emoji] [crying laughing emoji]

It suddenly occurred to Felix what he’d just thought. 

**Annette**: so we all need to come up with a spooktacular set list right?

**Ingrid:** right. Any ideas?

It suddenly occurred to Felix what he’d just thought. 

**Sylvain: **thriller?

**Ingrid:** too cliche

**Sylvain: **number of the beast?

**Ingrid: **better

**Sylvain:** oh oh oh oh little piece of heaven

**Felix: **I’m not learning trombone for you 

**Sylvain: **UGH

**Sylvain: **you SUCK

_It suddenly occurred to Felix what he’d just thought. _He hurriedly threw something out into the group chat:

**Felix**: Don’t Fear the Reaper

**Ingrid: **But make it metal? Yes.

**Annette: **the devil went down to Georgia?

**Annette: **Idk how to make that metal tho

**Ingrid: **leave that part to Felix

**Ingrid: **It might also be a good time to break out some of your new stuff, Felix? It’s dark enough

**Annette: **:o

**Sylvain**: [crying laughing emoji]

**Felix: **I’m taking that as a compliment

He set down his phone again and actually started doing what they actually paid him for. It was easier than dwelling on whatever it was he’d just thought. Just his band, yep. Halloween setlist, yep. More brochures for the local city council, yep. He was definitely, absolutely _not _daydreaming about what Annette would be like onstage, and whether she would be sweet like normal or something a little more hard-edged?

He was absolutely not thinking about it.

It nearly gave him a heart attack when he checked his phone later to discover 28 unread messages--most of which were Sylvain and Ingrid arguing about the setlist. But the last of them caught his attention:

**Annette: **ooo you know what we should play? 

**[Annette has sent an attachment]**

It was a video of Nightwish playing the Phantom of the Opera, and although Annette’s voice wasn’t nearly so operatic, he could hear how impressive it would be in the open air at Carnage. Annette could easily carry it, and they could make it crunch more than Nightwish had. Felix felt himself grin, already on to daydreaming about how to cover it. He’d have to find tabs, or maybe the sheet music.

**Ingrid: **yes!

**Sylvain: **hell yes!

**Felix: **alright

**Annette: **yes!!!!!!!!!

Felix almost laughed out loud, which would have given away the fact that his brochure hadn’t changed in probably twenty minutes.

**Annette: **who used to sing for you guys after Dimitri left?

**Ingrid: **Felix and me, why?

**Annette: **Because someone needs to sing the Phantom’s part

**Felix: **wAIT

But it was too late. Sylvain was already off and running, spamming the group chat with versions of the song--from the traditional theatre version to various covers--and talking about how best to cover it and whether to open or close with it. And Annette was just so _excited. _He could tell by the explosion of emojis and exclamation points. He wasn’t about to take that from her.

What was the worst that could happen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's like grade school--today is my birthday, so y'all get a treat :3
> 
> I had to hop on the group chat chain--it's just too damn entertaining
> 
> today's episode is brought to you by the Jonathan Young cover of the Phantom of the Opera


	5. The One Where Annette Teaches Phonics

Annette had quickly gotten used to the bus ride to Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain’s part of town. They didn’t live too far from campus, probably for Ingrid’s benefit, but they were no longer in one of the neighborhoods where mostly students lived. It was too far to walk, and so Annette had found ways to make herself productive on the bus ride over (usually by doing homework). 

Ever since they’d added a Saturday practice into their usual routine, Annette’d had rearranged her work schedule to accommodate. Her boss had been irritated with her (“A different shift _again?”), _but Annette didn’t mind. Having Saturdays free, even for band practice, made her feel giddy with freedom. It was a crisp, fall afternoon--the kind that breathed life into tired souls--and for once, she wasn’t stuck at work.

Her good mood dropped, however, when Felix answered the door with an unceremonious, “Well, shit.”

Not to be deterred, Annette barreled right on. “Hi, Felix! Ready for band practice?”

He stared at her for so long a moment, Annette shifted in discomfort. Was it something about what she wore? She was dressed, for once, for herself instead of for work, in a grey, duster-length cardigan, jeans, and worn black boots. Was it something on her face? She hadn’t eaten anything on the bus ride over.

“Um?” Annette said. 

Felix’s intense, amber eyes never wavered, but he did pull a face. “So yeah, about that. Ingrid’s out of town for her cousin’s wedding this weekend, and Sylvain is her date-ish-thing. They were going to figure it out in the car. We meant to call it off and apparently forgot to put it in the group chat…?”

Annette’s brow furrowed as something niggled in the back of her mind. She hurriedly pulled her phone out of her pocket, and began furiously scrolling through the group chat. And when she saw it, Annette burst into tired laughter. 

“Welp...” She wheezed. “You did I just…” another giggle fit. “...forgot until literally just now.”

Belatedly, Felix laughed, himself. it finally broke the tension in his gaze. “You work yourself too hard.”

“That doesn’t have anything to do with me being forgetful,” Annette argued, doing her best to regain her composure.

Felix’s eyebrow shot into his hairline, and Annette was struck, not for the first time, with just how _handsome _Aegis’ moody guitarist was. His face was made of sharp angles framed by dark hair that was frequently falling out of a man-bun, and those sharp amber eyes missed absolutely nothing. 

Annette looked away, and then sighed. “Well, I guess I should… head back, I guess? God, I’m so stupid.” She was kicking herself for coming all the way out here, only to clearly be a bother. She could have been doing any number of things at home—like laundry, or homework, or baking with Mercedes--and not have inflicted herself on Felix.

“One,” he said, “no, you aren’t. Two, you can, um, still hang out if you want?”

Annette could only stare at him, stunned. Had Felix just voluntarily offered to spend time with her?

His face grew steadily more crimson until he blurted, “Or, y’know, just forget it.” He moved to shut the door again. 

“Whoa no you don’t!” Annette burst out, and this time it was Felix who was stunned into silence. “I was just surprised, is all. You and me need to practice _phantom, _anyhow. It kind of works out?”

“All the tabs I’ve found are shit,” Felix warned, moving out of the doorway to let Annette in, “so I haven’t exactly gotten around to fixing it yet. There’s nothing to practice.”

“It’s a duet, silly,” said Annette. “Of _course_ there’s something to practice! Besides, I have the sheet music.” She patted her messenger bag affectionately. “Do you want to borrow it?”

Felix blinked at her a couple of times. _“_That would be great, actually.”

Which was how they ended up on the couch in the main room with Felix’s guitar and Annette’s sheet music between them. Felix was scribbling down the chords on a piece of notebook paper while Annette held the book open for him, their heads bent together. He was so close she could smell his cologne—something earthy and masculine. It was a challenge not to close her eyes and breathe him in. 

“So, how does one make something Metal?” Annette asked, partially as a distraction, after Felix had propped up the notebook paper on the coffee table with the artful application of a couple of books and his phone.

“Like this.” Felix began the chord progression, making it shorter, grittier, choppier, and already, Annette could hear what he meant. The song had good bones, after all. It was just a matter of building on them. “With an amp, it’ll sound exactly like it should.”

“Distorted as all hell?” Annette asked

Felix clicked his tongue and grinned. The motion was almost predatory, and Annette felt herself blush something fierce. “Exactly,” Felix said. “The main issue we’re going to have is the organ. It doesn't sound right without it.”

“Oh, I have a keyboard.” Had her voice always sounded so breathy? She didn’t think so. “I teach voice lessons, you know.”

“Oh, hell. That’s easy enough.”

The fell into an awkward silence, and Felix went back to crunching the chords. 

Annette counted herself in, following the sheet music. Music, she could do. “_In sleep, he sang to me…”_

It felt threadbare without Sylvain’s pounding heartbeat on the drums, and Ingrid’s steady hand on the bass, never mind the fact that Felix wasn’t even plugged in. But still, Annette could hear what it could be, with a little bit of Metalhead magic. She grinned in anticipation. Carnage would never know what hit it.

It wasn’t until the chords stretched a little too long after her part that Felix seemed to realize he was supposed to be singing. “Whoops, hang on.” He muted the guitar strings with a quick motion, and then started again. Annette could see the beginnings of palm muting burn on the heel of his hand.

“You don’t have to be shy,” Annette said with a genuine smile. “It’s just me.”

“You know there’s a reason we put out that flyer, right?” Felix asked, eyebrow cocked again. “Ingrid and I aren’t singers.”

Annette put her hands on her hips. “Well, _I _want to hear you.”

Somehow, astoundingly, it was _Felix _who blushed this time. He quickly turned his attention to his hands, as if he hadn’t been making the same four chord shapes all afternoon. “_Sing once again with me…”_

His speaking voice was a smooth, pleasant baritone when he wasn't biting someone with it, so it really should have come as no surprise that his singing voice was just as melodious. Annette found herself drawn to him, just as much as she was to an actor playing the Phantom of the Opera himself.

“That was good!” Annette said when Felix’s first verse was finished. “One thing, though. Make your vowels nice and long.” She mimicked the sound with her hands, as if stretching taffy. “The phon-tom of the op-eh-ra.” She paused, and then giggled. “The way I remember it is that I need to pronounce ‘phantom’ like my middle name, Fantine.” Felix snorted, and Annette felt herself blush. “I know, it’s a ridiculous name.”

“I’m not laughing at you,” Felix said. “I’m laughing because my middle name is Hugo.”

A startled laugh burst out of Annette before she could stop it. “Okay, yeah, you get it.”

Felix made a face, nodded, and then began to play again. This time, he took care to fix his vowels, making them long and pure as any of Annette’s music school classmates could. It was gorgeous, and Annette found herself wishing his verse were longer.

“Really,” she said when he finished, “we shouldn’t have any problem at all! Now, let’s look at these harmonies, here in the bridge…” 

As she flipped to a specific page in the sheet music, Felix warned her, “I’m not good at harmonizing.”

“It just takes practice,” Annette said. “Can you play me this note?” She tapped the beginning of her part with her finger.

And so they continued on for a while, learning how their voices mingled and complemented (or didn’t, in some cases). It was far more intimate than learning to sing with anyone else had ever been, and for the life of her, Annette couldn’t figure out why. But she knew she felt exposed, as if she’d somehow stumbled out of the shower in nothing but a towel to find her apartment full of guests.

When Annette’s phone went off, she started and dropped the sheet music, and Felix nearly dropped his guitar in reactive shock.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry! Be right back.” Annette got up from the couch for the first time all afternoon, her knees cracking and protesting, and answered her phone. “Hello?”

“Annie! It’s Mercedes. Is band practice over?”

Annette glanced over to where Felix was picking up the sheet music from the floor. “Such as it is. Why, what’s up?”

“We’re getting ready to head to the Mason City Oktoberfest, and wanted to know if you guys wanted to come?”

The idea of wandering around the huge festival with Felix sounded like a lot more fun than it should have, all things considered. It was almost a shame that Ingrid and Sylvain were gone; wherever Aegis went, a party followed. Annette supposed that was part of Sylvain’s charm, since it certainly wasn’t Felix’s or Ingrid’s.

“Let me ask him. It’s just Felix and me today.” Annette pulled the phone away from her mouth, and said, “Hey, Felix, Mercedes and her boyfriend are going to the Mason City Oktoberfest tonight. Do you want to go with them?”

Confusion shot through Felix’s face, and Annette realized she’d made it sound like a date. _Stupid, stupid! _“We’ll be meeting up with some of our other friends, too! It’s not like we’d have to hang out with a couple all night.”

Felix pulled a face, and for a long moment, Annette felt her heart sink lower and lower. Was it just okay to hang out for band practice, but not like, with her as a person? _You should have known better, Annie. He doesn’t care about—_

“Sure,” Felix said, interrupting her mental spiral. “I guess. Drinking beer sounds like more fun than sitting around here all night.” He got up from the couch, bringing his guitar with him.

Annette felt her face split into a huge grin, and then said into the phone, “Sure thing! Do you want us to meet you there, or…?”

“No, we’ll come grab you. Can you text me the address?”

As Felix put away his guitar, he paid no mind to what he’d just agreed to--which turned out to bode very ill, indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Get Jinxed" the league song (I know, I wish they weren't all such bangers, too)


	6. The One Where Annette Gets Angry

Agreeing to this stupid thing had already landed Felix in the most uncomfortable car ride of his life. It wasn’t Mercedes--she was nice enough, if a bit standoffish. And it wasn’t even that he was in the backseat with Annette for a good forty-five minutes--that would have been lovely in most circumstances, honestly.

No, it was the fact that Mercedes’ boyfriend was apparently _Dedue fucking Molinaro._

“Felix,” the very large, very-much-existent man had greeted with cautious warmth. “It has been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” Felix had hissed, too low for Annette or Mercedes to hear over their own excited conversation.

Just like always, Dedue’s facial expression didn’t change. Felix had always found that incredibly irritating. “How is Aegis?”

“What do you care?” Felix bit back. “And what are you doing so far off the leash, anyway?”

Still, Dedue didn’t react. “I am Dimitri’s roommate, not his keeper.”

“Do you know Dedue, Felix?” Mercedes asked, suddenly interjecting into the conversation. Felix had the distinct impression she’d heard him, but the blonde woman’s eyes remained fixed on the road, her face impassive. 

“We’ve met.” Felix was genuinely proud of himself for providing such a non-argumentative answer on short notice.

“Dimitri used to sing for his band,” Dedue added.

“Wait,” Annette said. “You know Dimitri Blaiddyd?”

Dedue blinked in confusion, turning around to face Annette as best one can in a car. “He is my roommate.”

Annette brow furrowed. “I thought you said Dimitri lived in Fhirdiad, Felix?”

“He does,” Felix said.

“We have moved back,” said Dedue. 

Felix nearly spat gas station coffee all over the backseat of Mercedes’ car. “He’s _what_?”

“Dimitri was offered a teaching position at the university,” Dedue said, “And I have no particular ties to Fhirdiad, so we both moved back here.”

Mercedes smiled demurely. “We met when he applied to work in my bakery.”

Fury rose in Felix’s chest, bright and wild. Was this a fucking joke? The only redeemable quality to the entirety of Aegis’ falling out with Dimitri was the fact that he’d fucked off to Fhirdiad and they didn’t have to see him, pretty much ever.

“Oh my god,” Felix muttered, “Ingrid is walking around campus like an idiot.” He immediately pulled out his phone to warn her, cousin’s wedding he damned. 

“I believe Ingrid already knows,” Dedue said. 

Felix’s thumbs froze over his keyboard. “She _what?”_

“Now, now,” said Mercedes firmly. “we are all going to get along in this car even if it kills us. I am not above making you all play _I Spy.”_

Felix found it far wiser to shut up than argue with Mercedes, but he still texted Ingrid.

**Felix: **How long have you known Dimitri is back?

A long moment passed. He could feel Annette’s curious, concerned gaze on the side of his face, but he didn’t look at her. He wasn’t sure that he could. It was almost a relief when his phone buzzed, but:

**Ingrid: **we’ll talk when I’m back

_Bitch, _Felix thought fiercely. _She fucking knew! _He could have thrown his phone at the windshield. And she hadn’t fucking told him? Did Sylvain even know? Felix struck that thought down before he’d really formed it; Sylvain couldn’t keep a secret to save his life.

When they finally arrived in Mason City, the air in the car had become so tense, Felix swore he could feel it resting on his skin. It was a relief to get out of the confined area and breathe. 

“I know Dedue wants to check out the hops exhibit,” Mercedes said once they’d actually gotten into the festival grounds. “Do you guys want to come?”

“That’s okay,” Annette said. “Have fun!”

Felix shook his head. “Go for it.”

“We will meet up with you later,” Dedue promised, and then off they went. 

“Petra and Caspar should be around here somewhere,” Annette said. “Want to grab a beer and look for them?”

Wait a minute. Just how small _was _this town? “Petra Macneary and Caspar von Bergliez?” Felix asked. 

Annette’s far-too-blue eyes widened. “Oh no, please don’t tell me you hate them, too.”

Felix snorted. “They’re in Aymr. They’re fine. I’m wondering how you know them?”

Annette visibly relaxed at the news. “Oh, Petra was in my aural skills classes in undergrad, and Caspar is her friend.”

Felix had to admit, Oktoberfest got a lot better with one of those souvenir boot glasses full of beer in hand. Annette had questioned why he’d bothered, which had prompted a somewhat long-winded explanation of Sylvain’s jank-ass sense of humor. She had also balked at the beer pricing, which Felix had heard nothing of and gotten her one, too--albeit without the boot, which might have sent Annette into conniptions.

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she said for the third time, her small, delicate hands wrapped around a plastic cup full of märzen like a life preserver. 

“And I told you,” Felix said, “I hate drinking alone. So don’t worry about it.”

“Just a beer is like, eight bucks here!”

“And hanging out with my singer is worth at _least_ that much.”

It wasn’t until Annette blushed scarlet that he realized that was very easy to misconstrue. “I just mean that—”

“Annette! There you are!” Annette was nearly knocked over by the force of the oncoming hug. It was a minor miracle that she didn’t spill her beer. “It is good to be seeing you!”

“Hi, Petra!” Only Annette could match Petra’s enthusiasm, Felix thought dryly as Annette squeezed the other girl back. She let go a moment later. “Oh, and this is—”

“Felix Fraldarius!” Petra announced, moving to tackle him as well. “It is _good_ to be seeing you, as well!”

He tried to sidestep but was too slow, and found himself crushed by Petra’s wiry strength. His beer was not nearly so well behaved as Annette’s, sloshing over the sides of his boot and down Petra's back. She didn’t seem to mind.

“‘Sup,” Felix croaked. 

“Hey, Felix!” Caspar called, waving cheerfully and raising his own glass boot in a mock toast. 

Felix raised his own. “Cheers, you useless bastard.”

Caspar pretended to be offended. “I can’t stop Petra!”

“Where are Sylvain and Ingrid?” Petra asked, removing her arms from around Felix’s waist. “Are they being here?”

“They’re out of town.” Felix wasn’t sure why he sounded borderline apologetic. He took a swig of beer to cover for it.

“You will be giving them my love?” Petra said. 

“I can do you one better,” Felix said, finding his phone in his pocket and pulling up Snapchat. “Smile.”

Petra beamed at him, and Felix thumbed a quick “look who I found” to Ingrid and Sylvain over her photo.

“Good!” said Petra. “I was not having the chance to talk to you the other day at the Golden Deer.”

“Yeah, blame Edie for that one,” Caspar added. “We had to tear down our own gear and by the time _that _was done, you guys had left.”

Annette was looking uncomfortable, and Felix was reminded of what she’d said that night. _It feels like I’m third wheeling a lot, even though there are already three of you. _“Annette,” he began, not really knowing where he was going with it.

Mercifully, he didn’t have to, because Petra was already on to the next thing. “Oh, and look at this!” She looped an arm around Annette’s, and one around Felix’s, and pulled.

“Respect the beer, Macneary!” Felix barked, märzen falling over his hand again.

“Begging your pardon,” Petra said, “I am a liquor person.”

Annette giggled, and it almost made losing half his beer in the struggle worth it.

Petra led them to a large, grassy, fenced-in area, and Felix had to blink a couple of times to make sure he wasn’t seeing things. But no, it was definitely what he thought it was. He felt something bubble up from somewhere deep in his chest, something sort of like the feeling of _home _the Golden Deer elicited.

“It is mostly boys who have been watching too much _Star Wars,” _Petra said, “but they are having fencing!”

She wasn’t wrong. There were two pimply teenage boys going at it with fake swords, looking like they were having a hell of a good time and also like they’d watched _The Clone Wars _one too many times. Felix could hardly blame them; that was also how he and Glenn had started, after all.

“Felix,” said Petra, a dangerous gleam in her eyes, “will you be dueling me?”

Felix glanced to his beer, and then held up a finger. He drained the rest of it in one smooth motion, and then held it out to Annette. “Hold onto this, will you?”

“Why…?” she began, and then stopped. Felix could practically see the answer click into place as the gears in Annette’s brain worked. “You’re not seriously going to fight Petra, are you?”

Felix tested his shoulders a few times, and found his favorite, fur-lined jacket too constricting. He slid out of it, and, unthinkingly, set it over Annette’s shoulders. “Hold onto this, too?”

“Felix!” Annette shouted. 

“Relax, ‘Nette,” Caspar said, patting her on the head as if he weren’t barely an inch taller. “They’re okay.”

The _Star Wars _boys had wrapped up, and Petra had already ducked under the fence to approach the referee. Felix hopped the fence as well, but paused to glance back at Annette and Caspar. She nearly stole his breath, all red-faced and tiny under his jacket. (_His. Jacket.)_

“You remember when I said I was at Garreg Mach on Scholarship?” Felix asked. At Annette’s nod, he added, “It was for the fencing team.”

“Petra was on it, too,” Felix heard Caspar tell Annette before he was too far out of earshot. 

Petra seemed to have squared it away with the referee, and tossed him one of the fake swords. Felix tested the balance, taking a few experimental swings. He realized it was, one, made out of mostly foam with some sort of solid core, and two, completely, hilariously, unbalanced. But that was alright, he supposed. It was only a mock duel with an old teammate.

Felix took up a ready position across from Petra, falling into the old forms easily. He supposed it had only been a year since he’d last dueled competitively, and he still had his old foil taking up space in the closet. Perhaps it was time to take it off mothball.

He knew what he looked like to the casual observer: a skinny, black-haired boy in a Black Iron Spurs tee-shirt and combat boots that were almost comically large on him. And he knew Petra looked equally as unassuming, in her short black skirt and heavy, purple braid. But that was the glory of it, really. Only they knew what they did best.

The wind kicked up between them, blowing Felix's bangs about and cutting through his thin shirt almost like he imagined a real sword would. 

“Foils or sabers?” he called over as the referee took up position.

Petra grinned, wolf-like. “Sabers.”

And she struck.

The footwork came back easily enough. It was a familiar dance, after all; one honed over many years of practice. Petra would swing left, and Felix would step left, as well. He would jab and she would parry and riposte, or vice versa. They had always been evenly matched. 

Felix hadn’t moved like this in so long, he could practically feel where he’d atrophied. He wasn’t so quick on his feet, or so brisk on the parry. Petra was also an out-of-shape former athlete, so it wasn’t as if she was handing his ass to him. But still, it irked Felix, to know he had once been so much _better _than this. He was just lucky Petra wasn’t one to shit talk.

“Let’s go, Petra!” shouted a voice from the sidelines.

Both Felix and Petra turned and found their marks in Edelgard and her dark shadow, Hubert. Aymr’s lead singer was cheerfully sipping from a glass boot, and their keyboardist looked about as amused as one would at a funeral. Although, Felix supposed, it might be different when you’re the son of the town mortician.

But then Annette shouted: “You’ve got this, Felix!”

He ignored the blush burning into his face and unleashed a flurry of blows that forced Petra to fall back on the defensive. She was grinning, reveling in the exertion as much as she did playing bass onstage. She wasn’t flashy, but her talent and dedication were evident. Felix wondered what he looked like, after all this time.

The duel only ended when both of them ended up with the foam swords poised at each other’s throats.

For a moment, Felix and Petra could only stare each other down, life filtering back through the narrow-minded haze of combat. But then, a smattering of applause broke out, and he felt Petra grab his wrist to bring their fists to the air together, like a damn wrestling match.

“That was fun,” she said between heavy breaths.

“Sure,” Felix told her, equally as out of breath.

He looked over to where Annette and Caspar had been, and felt his stomach drop through his boots when he realized Annette was no longer there. 

“Oi! Caspar!” He called, jogging toward the fence. “Where’s Annette?”

Caspar blinked. “What do you mean, where’s Annette? She right…” Caspar turned, found the empty space where the small redhead had once been, and said “...oh.”

“We will split up,” called Petra. “She cannot have gotten far.”

Fear seized Felix’s throat as he hopped the fence again. It wasn’t like Annette to wander off, and he refused to consider other, darker possibilities as he scanned the crowd. She had flaming auburn hair and was wearing his black-and-blue jacket; he could hardly miss her. 

Right?

He cursed the fact that he didn’t have Mercedes’ number, because that meant breaking a year’s worth of silence, and texting Dedue. 

**Felix:** is Annette with you guys?

After a few, increasingly frantic minutes of searching down the midway games in the growing dusk, Felix got a response:

**Dedue:** no, why?

Why _else _would anyone ever ask that question?

**Felix: **we can't find her

**Dedue: **I will alert security. 

**Felix: **might be overkill. She can’t have gotten far 

**Dedue: **we will be safe, not sorry

**Felix: **whatever

God, security was the absolute last thing Felix wanted to deal with. He had seen the Seiros Security logo plastered all over the banners on the way in, and really, the only thing worse than a private police force was the actual Fhirdiad blue. Most all of them recognized him as “Rodrigue’s boy” and it just was not worth the headache. Usually.

Just as Felix was starting to think that _maybe _Dedue might be onto something, he spotted a head of flaming red hair flit around the corner of one of the stalls. Felix was off like a bottle rocket, whipping around the corner of the market stall and nearly slamming into Annette in the process. She gave an undignified squeak as she caught him.

“What the fuck, Annette?” Felix barked, even as relief spread across his chest like butter in a hot skillet. 

She looked genuinely confused as she held him at arm’s length. Her hands burned into the bare skin of his arms. “What do you mean, what the fuck?”

Beneath his relief, Felix was seething. “Why the fuck did you just run off?”

Annette’s facial expression shut down hard, and she yanked her hands back. “What do you care? You were dueling Petra.”

Now it was Felix’s turn to be genuinely confused. “What do you mean, what do I care? We thought something had _happened _to you!”

“Well, I’m fine,” Annette snapped. “So you can just _go.” _Her voice cracked on the last word. 

“Annette, what the…” It had been a long time since Felix had been at a loss for words. “No, I’m not going. You’re coming.” He made an impatient gesture for her to follow.

“Go meet up with everyone else.” Annette tried to shoo him. _Shoo _him, like a damn stray cat. “I’ll be back once I--_eep! He’s here!”_

Felix found himself putting his body between Annette and whatever had just startled her. He didn’t turn around, and instead kept his gaze focused on her face, trying to get a read on her. 

“What the fuck is going on, Annie?” Felix pressed.

It was the nickname that did it. When her gaze snapped back to his, sky blue meeting earthy amber, her anger died away, leaving anxiety in its wake. Annette spared one more glance over Felix’s shoulder, and then yanked him into the small alleyway between tents.

Felix could feel her entire body press against his, and his heart gave a funny little stutter stop that he desperately hoped she couldn’t feel. She was so small, so soft. She would fit easily into his arms, if he only reached out.

But Annette was speaking quickly, quietly, _angrily, _and whatever else besides concern that was building in him died.

“My Dad left my Mom and me when I was eight,” Annette hissed. “He never visited, never sent child support, and never even fucking called.” She drew in a harsh, sharp breath and shut her eyes for a moment. “And I think I just saw him.”

Her eyes snapped open, and found their mark on his. Waiting. She was waiting.

Despite everything screaming at him not to, Felix stepped back. Sense began flooding back into his brain. “Lead the way.”

Annette blinked at him for a moment in wholesale shock. “You’re… not telling me not to?”

“Why would I?” There are plenty of people whose asses he would happily kick, and Annette’s dad had just made the list.

Annette’s jaw dropped a little, and it took her a second to respond. “Right. Okay. Follow me, I guess.” She took off again, setting out at a brisk pace.

He was really feeling the weight of the beer in his stomach, now. Between dueling Petra and running across creation looking for Annette, this was more physical exertion than Felix had bothered with in months. Maybe he ought to take Ingrid up on her offer to go jogging in the mornings, if he didn’t vomit tonight, first.

Annette seemed to be zeroing in on a large, red-haired man wearing the Seiros Security uniform (because of course he was). The closer they drew, the more Felix could pick out a family resemblance. His face was far harder, and his hair streaked with grey, but the bright blue eyes were the same, unmistakable shade. 

“Dad!” Annette shouted, but the man did not turn.

“Dad!” she tried again when they drew closer, but again, to no avail.

“_Gustave!” _she shouted, and finally, the man turned.

He stared at Annette for a moment, and Felix saw the glint of recognition in his eyes. But he said, “Do you need something, miss?”

Annette stared at him, confusion and hurt warring on her face. “Dad, it’s me. Annette. _Your daughter. _Why are you acting like you don’t know me?”

The man--Gustave--hung his head in shame. “Annette, I--”

But Annette wasn’t really asking. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you! Why won’t you _look _at me?”

Gustave sighed, but did not raise his head. “I’ve… lost the right to face you, and your mother.”

“This has nothing to do with _rights_,” Annette spat, her face red and tears threatening to spill, “this has to do with right and wrong. I am your _daughter.”_

“But I am no father,” Gustave said, so quietly Felix almost missed it.

“But you could be.” Annette was pleading, and Felix’s heart hurt in ways that made no sense. Why wasn’t she still angry? Why wouldn't her father _fight _for her, or at least fucking look at her when he spoke?

Gustave was shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Annette.”

“Don’t apologize to _me.” _Annette was well and truly crying now, tears spilling down her face. “Apologize to Mom. She’s been waiting for you all this time. God only knows why.”

“I’m sorry, Annette,” Gustave said again, and he finally, _finally _looked to his daughter’s distraught face. “But I cannot. I know you don’t understand, but it’s just how things have to be.”

“That’s the stupidest shit I’ve ever heard,” Annette said, and Felix’s chest swelled with pride.

“Good evening, miss,” Gustave said, nodding to Annette. “Fraldarius.” And to Felix, as well.

And then he was gone, slipping between crowds of people until they lost sight of even his flaming red hair.

Annette was still standing frozen in place, her hands balled into useless fists at her sides. Noiseless tears slid down her face, and her shattered expression was just too hard to take. As gently as he possibly could, Felix steered her away from the crowds, into the shadow of one of the lesser-liked midway games. She was barely arm’s length away, and he could see every tear clinging to her eyelashes.

“Do you wanna go after him?” Felix asked, and winced when it prompted a fresh wave of tears.

“What’s the point?” Annette asked, her usually cheerful, bright voice small and broken. “He doesn’t want me.”

Something heavy and instinctive roared in his chest, screamed at him to protect, to defend. “And he’s a fucking idiot.” Even Felix was surprised at the fierceness in his voice.

Annette managed the ghost of a smile, and then she was tucking herself against his chest, burying her face in his collarbone. “Thanks,” she mumbled against him.

He had been right, earlier. She fit perfectly into his arms. “Don’t mention it.”

And he held her there while she cried, smoothing her hair back and drawing loose, calming circles on her back the way his father used to when Felix had cried as a child.

After what felt like an eternity, Annette’s breathing steadied. She squeezed him tightly, and then stepped back. But she didn’t let go completely, and Felix basked in it.

“He knew you,” she said.

Felix shook his head. “No, he doesn’t. He probably knows my dad, who I look just like.”

“Oh.” Annette was no longer looking at him.

Felix tried to channel Ingrid and read what Annette needed before she even knew herself, but it was like trying to read a language he didn’t speak. “What do you need?” Felix asked instead. “Do you want to go home, or meet up with the others?”

Annette’s face suddenly grew fierce. “I’m not leaving.”

She stepped away from him, and it was all Felix could do to let her. She scrubbed at her eyes, wiping globs of mascara away. Felix had a horrible moment of _what did you do to my shirt _before remembering that it was black. He looked down anyway, just to confirm.

He then had a second, horrible realization: “Oh my god, I never told the group chat.”

Annette steered them through the crowd as he put together a group chat with Aymr and Dedue.

**Felix: **I found her. Where are you all?

**Caspar: **Thank fuck!

Felix snorted. Leave it to Caspar to break a mood.

**Petra: **I am so glad she is safe!

**Edelgard: **Hubert and I are in the biergarten near the dueling ring! We have your beers, Felix and Annette

**Dedue: **I am adding Mercedes to the chat.

Cue a stream of texts from an unknown number, and Felix glanced up to tell Annette, “I think Mercedes was worried about you.”

Annette blushed again, and hung her head sheepishly. “I’m sure. I need to tell her I’m sorry.” She paused, and then looked to Felix. “I’m… also sorry I was so harsh to you, earlier.”

Felix cocked an eyebrow. “You _do _know who I am as a person, right?”

Annette laughed, _really_ laughed. “You still didn’t deserve it. You were just worried.”

“Shut up,” said Felix.

Annette didn’t really perk up until rounded up their friends and found Edelgard and Hubert at a table in the biergarten with Dedue and Mercedes. The blonde girl was immediately on her feet and running to Annette, mother hen-ing and asking a million questions.

“I’m fine, Mercie,” Annette inputted, “I really am. Felix was there; he’ll tell you.”

Mercedes looked at him over Annette’s shoulder, and Felix saw flint in those blue-grey eyes. If he lied here, Mercedes would never trust him, and he was not dumb enough to get Annette’s best friend on his bad side. So he shook his head slowly, saying nothing.

Something softened in Mercedes’ stare, just a little, and Felix felt like he’d just passed some kind of test. “Well, I’m glad you’re safe, Annie,” Mercedes said. “Come eat something. We got a pretzel and they’re to _die _for.”

It was a strange combination of people—Aymr, half of Aegis, Mercedes, and Dedue—but the rowdy crew of misfits quickly knitted itself around Annette. Nobody pried, but everyone could tell she was hurting. And so Caspar told stories of dumb fights he’d been in, Edelgard told stories of office shenanigans, and Mercedes asked after the bands and their preparations for Carnage.

“Oh, that reminds me,” Edelgard said, flipping through something on her phone a moment, “the official flyers are out. Check it.”

Felix didn’t realize he was holding his breath until he let it out in a glorious whoop. There was Aegis’ logo, sitting proudly on the edge of the paper alongside the others’—Aymr, The Watchers, a couple of comedians and bands that were probably nothing like his (given the logos), and Atrocity. But not even Dimitri could ruin this moment.

“You actually got us in?” Felix asked, incredulous.

Edelgard gave an exaggerated shrug and sipped her beer. It was Hubert who said, “It was the strangest thing. They had originally asked Thyrsus to play, but their lead singer came down with a horrible case of mono a few days ago.” He coughed, and took a delicate sip of beer. “Tragic, really.”

Annette blinked a few times, the movement a wee bit slower than usual given how deep in her cups she was. “Are you implying that you gave—”

“Arundel your names?” Hubert inputted. “Indeed.”

Felix cackled along with the rest of Aymr, and continued trying to drown how much he liked seeing Annette in his jacket with beer after beer after beer.

It wasn’t working.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Claim Your Weapons" by Christian Reindl


	7. The One Where Ingrid Comes Clean

Felix was not home when Ingrid and Sylvain returned on Sunday afternoon. He was not home when they came in, not speaking to each other, and he was not home when Ingrid left barely twenty minutes later.

When he _did _come home, it was with groceries, and Ingrid was not there. There was only a very dazed Sylvain, absentmindedly eating popcorn on the couch and watching some terrible, made-for-TV SciFi movie. 

“Oi, come help with the groceries,” Felix told him. 

“Oh.” Sylvain blinked a few times, as if Felix had startled him. “Yeah, sure.”

It didn’t take long for the two of them to drag everything in, but putting it away proved to be, apparently, quite the challenge. The third time Sylvain tried to put a box of pasta the fridge, Felix folded his arms, leaned against the kitchen counter, and said without preamble, “The fuck is your problem?”

“Huh?” Sylvain dropped the can of tomato sauce he was holding, and both boys had to jerk sideways to avoid getting their toes flattened. “I’m fine.”

Felix just fixed him in an amber-eyed stare, and waited.

At first, Sylvain tried to avoid his gaze and put away more groceries, but the drummer had never liked being scrutinized, even and especially by Felix and Ingrid. He eventually gave up, set a jar of peanut butter on the counter with more force than was strictly necessary, and said, “Ingrid is mad at me.”

Felix’s brow furrowed. “And that’s news?”

“No, Fe,” Sylvain said, “she’s like, _genuinely_ mad.”

Felix narrowed his eyes. “What did you do?”

Sylvain looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. “Okay, look, I know we don’t really talk about girls—er, I mean, I talk, you listen—but I think we genuinely need to talk about girls because Ingrid is so mad she isn’t speaking to me, and do you have any idea how awkward an hour long car ride is with someone who isn’t speaking to you?”

“Yes,” Felix interrupted. “And you haven’t answered me. _What. Did. You. Do?”_

“I kissed her.”

The silence stretched between like a spiderweb. 

“That’s it?” Felix asked. “Jesus, I was expecting something way worse.”

“Uh, it’s still bad!” Sylvain said. “She isn’t talking to me, and is studying in a Starbucks. A _Starbucks, _Fe!”

Felix visibly cringed. That really _was _bad; the only thing Ingrid hated more than boys who thought they knew more than her was noise when she was studying. 

“Start over from the beginning,” Felix said. 

Sylvain sighed, and pushed his fingers through his bangs. They flopped back down over his forehead a moment later. “Ingrid asked me to go to the wedding with her because she got a plus one and knew that I would have more fun than you would.”

“Valid,” said Felix. “Plus, there’s fewer rumors with you.”

“She didn’t exactly say that, but…” Sylvain made a face. “Anyway, on the car ride over she told me she hoped I didn’t think this was a date-date, and so I said, ‘Not if you don’t want it to be.’”

Felix made a face and then shrugged. “That sounds healthy, all things considered.”

“I know! But she gives me this weird look like I’ve said something wrong.”

Felix could only offer another, slightly more confused shrug. 

Sylvain made an annoyed face. “So I was thinking to myself like, ‘Okay, that answers that. You’ll still go and have a good time, and free beer is best beer.’”

Felix winced. He could already see the oncoming train. 

“But then…” Sylvain trailed off, sighed, and then started over. “Weddings make people sentimental, you know? And she’s just so damn pretty, whether or not she’s even wearing any make up, and I couldn’t keep my damn mouth shut, so I told her that, and then... well. I told you why she’s mad at me.”

Felix tried to mentally piece together what exactly would have upset Ingrid. He could think of several things offhand, but mostly, “You definitely surprised her, and probably embarrassed her. Apologize, and go from there.”

Sylvain was full-on puppy dog pouting in the exact way that had irritated Felix ever since they were kids. “But what if I fucked everything up?” Sylvian said, his voice very small. “What if she moves out, and we never see her again, and we have to find a new bassist and don’t get to play Carnage…”

“She isn’t moving out or leaving the band,” Felix interrupted, “and we'll definitely see her again. You just need to make your intentions clear, and then see what her answer is.”

Sylvain drew in a shaky breath. “I... don’t know how to do that, Fe.”

Felix scowled. “It’s easy. You walk up to her and say, ‘Hey Ingrid, by the way, I’ve kinda sorta been in love with you since we were seventeen and would love to take you out sometime?’”

Sylvain laughed, but it sounded more like he’d been punched in the gut. “And you’re such an expert, mister can’t-stop-staring-at-Annette?”

Felix busied himself with the groceries again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh?” Sylvain was enjoying this, wasn't he? Bastard. “I see you at practice, bro. _And_, I have… this!” He scrolled through something on his phone, and then held it out triumphantly. 

It was a screenshot of a snap from last night, at Oktoberfest. Sylvain had told him to get one of those boots for him, and Felix has sent back a shot of him glaring at the camera, glass boot to his lips and arm around Annette. She was laughing, her face just inches from his. The caption read DONT TELL ME WHAT TO DO. 

“The hell did you save that?” was Felix’s first question. 

“Because it’s hilarious, first of all,” Sylvain said. “Second of all, because it’s proof.”

“Of _what?” _Acid dripped from Felix’s tongue. 

“You like Annette.”

“Don’t be stupid,” said Felix. “And wasn’t this about you and Ingrid?”

“Yeah, but I’m remembering the other thing I wanted to talk to you about. Which is, you. Like. Annette.” He jabbed a finger to Felix’s chest with each word. 

Felix slapped his hand away. “Fuck off.”

“Grumpy-ass Felix likes super-sunshiny Annette. It’s fucking adorable,” Sylvain said earnestly. “It’s also literally never happened before. We were starting to wonder if you were ace or…”

“I _said, _fuck off!”

“Which would be okay, too!” Sylvain continued as if Felix hadn’t spoken. “It just didn’t sit right on you for some reason, but I…”

“Sylvain, I’m serious. _Fuck. Off.”_

Sylvain stared at Felix for a long moment, something unreadable in his usually cheerful expression. 

“It’s okay,” Sylvain finally said, with quiet concern. “I’m poking fun because that’s what friends do. But Annette is pretty, and smart, and doesn’t take your shit or get offended at what you say. So really, she’s everything you, specifically, could ask for in a girlfriend.”

“Now who’s giving hypocritical advice?” Felix snapped. 

“I mean,” said Sylvain, “I feel like I’ve been in enough bad relationships to know a good one when I see it.”

“We’re not in a relationship,” Felix pointed out. He knew it was pedantic but he also didn’t care. “She’s the singer in my band.”

“Ooooh-kay,” said Sylvain in a tone that suggested the complete opposite. “So you’re telling me that you don’t…?”

At that point, the front door banged open, sending Sylvain yelping to his room to hide. 

“Hey!” Ingrid called. 

“Hey,” Felix shouted back, “Galatea! You and I still need to have a chat.”

Ingrid froze, her backpack thumping hard against her back. “I have clusters this week and really need to study.”

Felix folded his arms across his chest, feeling his hackles raise. “That isn’t my problem.”

“Oh, so my dreams of being a pharmacist mean _nothing_ to you?” Ingrid fired off. 

“Our friendship,” Felix corrected, “means _something _to me.”

Ingrid’s face twisted as though in pain, and then, defeated, she set her backpack down by the door with a heavy thud. 

**“**Alright**,” **she said quietly, coming over to the kitchen. “Alright.”

Felix felt his hackles raise, felt fury building in his chest. “How long did you know?” His words cut like ice. 

Ingrid’s face twisted again. “I saw his name on the teaching roster when I was looking at classes for this year and put two and two together.”

Felix’s eyes shot open wide. “Since last semester? You have known that asshole walks among us since _last spring? _And you didn’t _warn _us_? _What the hell kind of--_”_

“I chose to let sleeping dogs lie,” Ingrid interrupted sharply. 

Felix’s teeth were ground so tightly together he felt something shift in his molars. “You chose to lie to me.”

“There you go again, making everything black and white!” Ingrid was shaking, her hands balled into fists. “What would you have done if I’d told you last spring? What could you possibly have gained? You already don’t listen to a damn thing I say about Dimitri; you weren’t going to do any better knowing he may or may not be in town.”

“I’m sure as hell not listening to you now!” Felix thundered. “And there _you _go again, thinking you know what’s best for everyone else, never letting them choose, never letting them decide, just being your _perfect _self--”

“I never claimed I was perfect,” Ingrid shouted, “just that I think about my actions before I take them!”

Why was it so difficult not to argue with Ingrid? How did they always manage knock-down, drag-outs when neither of them really intended it? Felix would never know. Maybe it was because she was the sister he’d never had.

Would never have.

“You’re just like fucking Glenn,” Felix growled. “Telling me to think for myself, and then making decisions for me.”

“Don’t you _dare _bring him into this!” Ingrid was now crying, as well as yelling. Capital, Felix had fucked up on all accounts. 

“And who should I bring in, instead, Sylvain?”

A sharp, resounding crack across the kitchen told Felix he’d been slapped long before the pain in his face did.

“Don’t be cruel,” Ingrid snapped.

Felix itched to hit back, to bleed. “Don’t break your fucking promises.”

“What on God’s green Earth--”

“What did we promise after Dimitri left?” Felix didn’t give her the time to think. “No more secrets. No more lies. No more bullshit.”

Ingrid stumbled backwards, as if he really _had_ hit her back. Her shoulders caved in, her eyeliner streaking silently down her face. She was staring at him in open-mouthed shock, hand to her heart as if in pain.

“You’ve no right to criticize me.” Ingrid tried to reach her previous levels of anger, and failed. “I hear you pacing your floors at three in the morning. I see those bags under your eyes. I know you buried your fencing foil in your closet a year ago and haven’t touched it since.”

“What’s it to you?” Felix snapped. “I’m at practice on time and haven’t broken my fingers yet.”

Exasperation filtered through Ingrid’s expression, and all at once, she looked more like herself. “I know you aren’t taking care of yourself, Fe. I just... didn’t want to add to your burdens. Goodness knows you have enough.”

Felix felt something sharp twist in his guts, and then, just as suddenly, it loosened. He felt something warm suddenly fall on his face. “You don’t have to protect me, Ingrid.”

“Of course I do,” she said. “I don’t want to lose anyone anymore.”

There were only about four people in the world that Felix would let hug him, and Ingrid was one of them. So when she held out her tired arms, Felix huffed an annoyed sigh and allowed himself to be squeezed. (He would never admit it was sort of nice, being cared about like that.)

“You’re a dumbass,” Felix said.

“I value my friends,” Ingrid said, giving one more squeeze and then letting go. “If looking out for them makes me a dumbass, then so be it.”

“You’re also insufferable,” Felix told her.

Ingrid shot him a watery grin in reply.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Crawling" by Dream State


	8. The One Where Annette Regrets Everything

She should have known this would be a terrible idea.

Carnage was _ this weekend _, and Annette still had two days of work to get through. She had made the mistake of saying she was nervous at band practice earlier this evening, and Sylvain, bless him, had suggested she watch some bootlegs on YouTube to get a feel for what kind of frontwoman she wanted to be. 

It was a good idea, all told. Sylvain just had no idea what kind of researcher Annette was. 

So now it was almost 2 in the morning, and Annette was fixated on video after video of singers she wanted to be like. First had been the obvious ones—Metallica and Volbeat and Avenged Sevenfold—and then she’d had the thought of looking into Aymr, which had turned into being overwhelmed by just how _ good _Edelgard was, which had spurred the YouTube rabbit hole by which she’d wound up watching old Aegis and Black Iron Spurs shows. 

In Black Iron Spurs, a boy who looked remarkably like Felix dazzled crowds with guitar riffs and a low bass voice. He was hard rock incarnate, with long black hair, sleeves of tattoos, and a killer smile. He was a frontman who grabbed you by the face and demanded your attention, whether you’d intended to give it or not. 

In Aegis, Dimitri was a force of nature, a blond man with a deep, booming voice who commanded the floor with the stage presence of a king. It was a far cry from the quiet boy who’d sat behind Black Iron Spurs’ drumkit. And Annette found herself wondering, not for the first time, what exactly his falling out with Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain had been.

_ I will never measure up, _ Annette thought miserably as Dimitri paced the stage like a caged beast. _ I’ll be the worst frontwoman ever and we’ll completely suck at Carnage and then everyone will hate me and Felix will never talk to me again. _

She buried her face in the couch cushions as tears threatened to fall.

How could she _ possibly _ have thought she could do this? She was small, and bright, and frequently referred to as adorable. She didn’t have a booming voice and a commanding personality. She was just… Annette. Full time broke-ass grad school student, part time tutor, and part time voice teacher. Her clothes were shabby and conservative, her hair was violently orange, and there was nothing special about her. 

Auditioning for Aegis had been a terrible mistake. She should call Ingrid right now and let her know. Ingrid would understand, right? Sylvain wouldn’t and Felix wouldn’t, but surely Ingrid would? She was far kinder than the boys. But she always looked so sad, when she thought no one was looking. Annette wasn’t sure how she could break the news to her without making that worse.

Maybe Sylvain, then? He was bright and cheerful, although he’d probably dated most every eligible woman in the tri-state area (and even a few that weren’t). His demeanor reminded Annette of when Crusher had been a puppy, and with _ that _ thought came the memory of all the times she’d had to shut the door on a pouting bulldog when she’d had to leave the apartment.

Okay, okay, Sylvain was no good. Felix, then?

Oh, but Felix would stare her down with those sharp, amber eyes, and whatever fell out of his mouth would be heart-wrenchingly cold and biting. _ Who the fuck do you think you are, dropping out on us? _

No, she absolutely couldn’t disappoint Felix, either. Not when they’d worked so hard on _ Phantom. _

“Annie?”

Annette’s head snapped up at the sound of her nickname and she yanked out her headphones, only to find one very concerned Mercedes von Martritz just coming through the front door. She must have been baking pastries on the third shift; she still had flour in her hair. 

“Annie?” Mercedes repeated, concern growing in her expression. “What’s wrong?”

Annette struggled to find her voice for a moment, during which Mercedes kicked off her nonslip sneakers and came over to their beat up couch. 

“_Annette_,” Mercedes said, more firmly the third time. 

“I’m doomed,” Annette croaked. 

Mercedes blinked. “Nonsense. What could you even be doomed about?”

“Carnage.”

“Why would you be doomed about that? The weather sounds like it should hold off, and Dedue and I will both be there to cheer you on.” Mercedes’ smile was tired, but genuine. “And you’ve been so terribly excited all month about it. Why the…” Mercedes paused to look for a word. Upon finding none, she just gestured to Annette, who was still hunched over her phone on the couch. “...this, now?”

“Did you know Dimitri Blaiddyd used to sing for Aegis?” Annette said. 

“Yes, I did. I’m dating his best friend, remember?”

“Oh.” Annette turned an embarrassed shade of red, but pressed on. “Well then you know. I don’t have that kind of charisma. Or that kind of voice. Or that kind of…”

“Annette,” Mercedes interrupted, gently but firmly, “He’s the former governor’s son. Those things surely come as naturally to him as breathing.”

“His breathing is also perfect,” Annette inputted, “in case you were wondering.”

“I wasn’t, but I believe you.” Mercedes gave a small, tired laugh. “My point is, you have things that come just as naturally to _ you _. Comparing yourself to a large, blond man isn’t going to do either of you justice. “

“But I’ll ruin everything,” Annette got out in a tiny, rushed whisper. 

“No, you won’t,” said Mercedes immediately. “Why on _ earth _ would you say that?”

Annette glanced down at her phone again. She could still see Dimitri commanding the stage, albeit soundlessly given the lack of earbuds. 

“Because I’m the furthest thing from Metal that there could possibly be,” Annette said. “I’m small, and cute, and actually listen to the rules, and…”

“_And _Aegis chose you anyway,” Mercedes interrupted. 

Annette stopped dead in her tracks. “What?”

“They know you’re all those things,” Mercedes said. “They _ saw _that you’re those things. But they chose you anyway. Which means they see something metal in you.”

It sounded ridiculous coming from Mercedes, whose usual playlist consisted of relaxed, indie bands, but it still held the authority of a best friend. Could she be right? Could Aegis have seen something?

“Believe in them,” Mercedes said, “if you can't believe in you.”

That… sounded doable. Aegis knew what they were doing. Sylvain certainly had confidence to spare, and Ingrid was always so cool, so focused. And Annette hadn’t missed the way Felix tended to watch her when she sang. Surely he would have said something by now if she were were terrible? He usually did. 

“Now stop making yourself feel worse.” Mercedes jerked Annette’s phone out of her hands with one smooth, practiced motion. “And go to bed. You’ve got a show to do this weekend and you want to be awake for it.”

Annette made a show of being annoyed about her phone, but then she softened. “Thanks, Mercie.”

Mercedes smiled, and it was as brilliant as the sun. “That’s what best friends are for! And besides.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial pitch, as if there were anyone else in their apartment. “They have to like you.”

Annette blinked. “What makes you say that?”

“Because Felix does.”

Annette choked on her own spit, coughing and spluttering. “_What?” _

“I saw the way he looked at you during Oktoberfest,” Mercedes said, hands on her hips and matter-of-factly. “He wouldn’t be looking at you like that if he thought you were a terrible singer.”

“Like _ what?” _Annette asked. 

“You know, like you’re the only person in the room.”

Annette had seen that look. It was the same one Dedue gave Mercie when he thought she wasn’t looking. 

“You’re joking,” Annette said immediately.

Mercedes’ eyes widened. “Annie, I would never!” She held out Annette’s phone as a peace offering. “It’s so hard for people to care about each other sometimes. Why would I joke about it?”

Annette took her phone back, and looked away. “Because it doesn’t make any sense. He’s so good-looking, and talented, and I’m just…”

Mercedes’ eyes narrowed. “_A__nnette Fantine Dominic _, you had better not say what I think you’re going to say.”

Annette snapped her jaw shut, and started over. “I just… what could he possibly see in me?”

“What I do,” Mercedes said firmly. She held Annette’s tired, stricken gaze for a moment, and then reached out to pull her into a gentle hug. “Do you want me to call your boss tomorrow and say you’re throwing up or something and can’t come in?”

“No, I’m going to work.” Embarrassed, Annette squeezed back and then pulled away. “Honestly at this point I might just stay up until I have to leave…”

“_No,” _said Mercedes. “You’re going to bed.”

Annette sighed. “This is what I get for rooming with the mom friend, isn’t it?”

Mercedes beamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Massive Addictive" by Amaranthe


	9. The One Where The End Begins

Backstage at the Carnage festival thrummed with energy. 

Partially literally, as bands continued to take the stage deeper into the evening, and partially metaphorically, as nothing amped up musicians quite like a live show. 

Annette was practically bouncing off the walls of the backstage tent, and Sylvain had already talked to everyone back there at least twice. Ingrid was doing her best to calm the two of them down, and although Felix had been helping at first, he had quickly reached the limits of his patience. With more than an hour until their set time, he said something to his bandmates about taking a walk, and disappeared out of the tent. 

That was when the end began. 

The cool night air hit him immediately, and he drew in a grateful breath. The backstage tent was too crowded, too stuffy. It thrummed with nervous energy that was both infectious and irritating. Felix, however, was not the only one with the same thought. 

He dodged Dorothea from the Watchers and Professor Jeralt from the faculty band with ease, but even as accomplished a fencer as Felix was, he couldn’t dodge everything. 

That was how he came face to face with Dimitri Blaiddyd for the first time in over a year. 

“Felix,” he murmured, his low voice completely unchanged, “it’s been a while.”

Fury roared to life in his chest as Felix’s brain scrambled to process. Dimitri had let his wheat blond hair grow long and shaggy, and he seemed to have put on more muscle than Sylvain and Felix combined. He had always been bigger than the other two boys, but somehow Felix now felt _dwarfed. _Whatever costume Dimitri had for the show consisted of an eye patch, fur-lined cloak (yes, _cloak), _and fake armor with a blue X over his heart. 

But the thing that remained the same was his eyes (well, the one, anyway). Once boldly blue and bright, Dimitri’s visible eye was clouded over, greyer somehow. _Dead eyes, _Felix remembered thinking last year just before Dimitri had left the band. _He has dead eyes._

“Not fucking long enough,” Felix growled, attempting to pivot around his ex-singer. 

Dimitri gave a rough sound that was somewhere between a snort and a scoff. “Charming as ever, aren’t you?”

Felix shot around him like a bottle rocket, heading in no particular direction. He refused to look over his shoulder until he’d counted at least a hundred paces, and even then, it was only a quick glance.

He found Dimitri deep in conversation with Edelgard. 

Felix wondered what in the hell those two would even have to talk about, especially with their shared parent gone. They seemed perturbed, heads bent and brows furrowed. Felix did his best to squash his curiosity, unwilling to go near Dimitri.

Out onstage, Felix caught a glimpse of Volkhard von Arundel, Carnage’s longtime organizer and benefactor, thanking the crowd for coming out. The man had always reminded Felix of an old timey movie gangster, what with his sleek, dark suits and slicked-back hair. And he was Edelgard’s uncle, apparently? The girl certainly didn’t lack for connections.

“This year’s donations will go to two organizations very dear to my heart,” Arundel was saying, “the Lambert Project and Out of the Dark. There are brochures about both groups at the drink stalls if anyone is interested. And now, please give a warm welcome to comedian Alois Rangeld, who will be our last family act before the bands come on!”

Felix had, of course, heard of the Lambert Project; his father donated to them every year. They petitioned for stricter gun control laws in Fhirdiad and the rest of the tristate area, albeit with lackluster results. They’d tried to get Dimitri involved for years, although the man was unwilling to put his face anywhere for them.

Out of the Dark, though, was a new one. A quick google search told him that they were some sort of political activist group, although the website’s details were vague. Governor Cornelia was a frequent donor, it looked like, plus a few of the teachers at Garreg Mach. 

_Weird combination of people, _Felix thought.

-)

“This is nothing like the sound check,” Annette murmured as Aegis took to the wings, waiting.

“Never is,” Felix told her.

The Carnage stage was set up in one end zone of the Garreg Mach football stadium, with rolling waves of crowds coming and going from food tents set up on the other end, the midway games, and everywhere in between. 

“Stick around for a band come back from the dead,” Dorothea was saying at the end of the Watchers’ set, “Garreg Mach’s very own Aegis!”

They took up their places after the Watchers vacated the stage, and Annette didn’t even introduce them. Instead, she simply struck up that first, imposing chord progression to _The Phantom of the Opera._

Felix, Ingrid, and Sylvain all layered in behind her, all crashing drums, heavy bass, and distorted guitar. The storm on the horizon was kicking up, making the stage coverings snap and billow.

_“In sleep, he sang to me,” _Annette began, and the crowd—which had been muttering, wandering, as crowds do—was instantly, gratifyingly silenced.

Felix listened hard, feeling a swell of pride bubble in his throat as Annette took to the stage as naturally as a fish to water. She had the grit and she had the power, and now was the time to prove it. He also refused to forget his cue, which he was wont to do if he listened to her for too long, and so he forced himself to watch the crowd, his fingers, Ingrid—_anything _but her.

And then he stepped up to his mic, still crunching chords and gritting his teeth. “_Sing once again with me…”_

The wind kicked up again, blowing Felix’s black hair—down and ironed straight for the occasion—about his face and snapping the collar of his jacket against his neck. He could smell the oncoming storm, ozone and fresh rain blooming on the horizon.

The first time his voice swelled towards the sky in harmony with Annette’s, he felt a chill run up his spine, and the crowd was further silenced. The second time, goosebumps erupted across his arms, despite the fact that he was wearing his favorite, hand-me-down, fur-lined jacket in a not-so-subtle political statement as to who, exactly, were the rightful successors to the Black Iron Spurs. Also, it was warm.

The third time, though, Felix became aware that he might actually be fucked.

“Sing for me, Annette,” he ordered into the mic when she hit the coloratura notes at the end of the song. He was supposed to keep encouraging her—that’s what the sheet music said, anyway—but in every single version he’d heard, Felix had always thought that whoever the Phantom was just needed to shut the hell up and let Christine sing. 

It was doubly true, when it came to Annette.

“_Sing,” _he growled a few bars later in a low tone that, afterwards, Dorothea would tell him got even her a little hot under the collar.

Annette hit that last, highest note, with striking precision and beautiful vowels, and Felix felt a heady thrill run down the entire length of his body.

Oh.

Oh _no._

Felix absolutely detested when Sylvain was right. So he shoved the thought away and focused on his guitar.

The crowd was roaring, and Annette was introducing the band in a way that was distinctly unlike Dimitri and made a grin curl across Felix’s face. “We’re Aegis,” she called, “best not forget it.”

First came _Don’t Fear the Reaper, _and _Paint It Black—_the easy, crowd-pleasing ones. Sylvain had even bought a cowbell just for the occasion. Then came _Udoroth _and the _Soul Eater _Theme Song (for which Annette dropped into cadence-perfect Japanese during the last chorus, and the crowd ate that shit up). Then came _Army of the Night _and _Teenagers, _and just as the brewing storm was whipping everything into a frenzy, Annette announced that it was time for an Aegis original.

The first chorus began a cappella, and slowly brought in just the kick drum. Annette’s voice rang clearly in the open air:

_“Dead eyes, nothing behind,_

_Nothing left but a chill inside _

_You tried to blow their minds_

_But ended up on the other side._

_Dead eyes, nothing inside,_

_Lost the last bit of your mind._

_Fuck your truth and fuck your lies,_

_Now you’re left on the other side.”_

Sylvain punched the drums with ferocity previously unseen, and Felix ripped into a particularly vicious riff. His fingers were already stiff, the heel of his hand chapped and bloody, but he had never felt more alive. Every nerve was a live wire, every breath like liquor, and Felix had begun to pace the stage just like his brother, a wireless pack in his back pocket.

Annette broke into the song for real as if it had always been written for her to sing:

_“Nothing new and nothing real,_

_Did you forget how to feel?_

_Sit back, say you tried—_

_We’re just along for the ride._

_Face facts, rearrange _

_Furry coat shot through with mange_

_Lessons taught and lessons learned _

_Bridges built and bridges burned _

_We all know this is the end_

_But you dare still call us friends _

_Wink, nudge, fist fist_

_Boy you made it on our list.”_

Annette commanded the stage like she was born to it, like you could do no less than pay her your full attention. It was by sheer force of muscle memory that Felix continued to play. He knew he was staring. 

_“Dead eyes, nothing behind,_

_Nothing left but a chill inside _

_You tried to blow their minds_

_But ended up on the other side._

_Dead eyes, nothing inside,_

_Lost the last bit of your mind._

_Fuck your truth and fuck your lies,_

_Now you’re left on the other side.”_

She was pacing the stage, the jagged hem of her long black skirt whipping about her heavy black boots. They were all wearing Ingrid’s latest t-shirt design, with the Aegis logo splashed across their backs, and a running gag across their chests ("If lost, please return to Ingrid, Annette, or Felix"), so the wind cut through to the quick.

But Felix could have been drinking mulled wine all night, for how warm he felt and how little he cared.

_“Something borrowed, something blue,_

_Tell me something, do you_

_Even remember it all?_

_Did you forget in your fall?_

_Something old and something new,_

_Last chance, we angry few_

_Let the fucking games begin:_

_Break under the weight again.”_

It wasn’t very often that Felix wrote himself a solo. The whole thing typically felt too vapid, too self-centered. He and Sylvain had a running gag of turning video game songs into short little metal covers, but that was as much to give the band a break as anything else. But the bridge for _Dead Eyes _had insisted, if Annette were to be believed, and so he’d taken the last few days to compose something, _anything _to put in these few bars. His fingers flew across the fretboard, in quick sweeps and runs, in crunching chords and elegant arpeggios, and the crowd roared its approval. 

And when the final chorus kicked in, the entire band sang, gang-vocal-style, with Annette:

“_Dead eyes, nothing behind,_

_Nothing left but a chill inside _

_You tried to blow their minds_

_But ended up on the other side._

_Dead eyes, nothing inside,_

_Lost the last bit of your mind._

_Fuck your truth and fuck your lies,_

_Now you’re left on the other side.”_

The last chord rang through the open air at Carnage, nearly lost in the roar of the crowd. Annette couldn’t hide her smile, and for once, neither could Felix. She was radiant in the stage lights, a goddess, a demon, his angel of music.

_Fuck_.

-)

“I don’t know what to tell you,” came a voice Felix was rapidly becoming familiar with. “That’s all I have.”

It was Edelgard, deep in conversation with Dimitri again. Something compelled Felix to go completely still, his guitar still slung across his back. He held out a hand to stop Annette, who was dragging part of Sylvain’s drumkit with her, but he hadn’t even needed to. She had also come to a halt, her brow furrowed and cute little nose scrunched.

_Stop that, _Felix mentally slapped himself, _It’s just a nose._

“He’s planning something.” Dimitri’s voice was a low growl.

“I know,” said Edelgard, annoyance creeping into the edges of her voice. “That’s what _I’m _telling _you. _The other thing I’m telling you is that _I don’t know what.”_

“Then _keep _looking,” Dimitri said.

_“No,” _said Edelgard, sarcasm dripping on her words. “I planned to stop _now.” _Exasperated, Edelgard rolled her eyes and looked away, only to find Felix and Annette coming towards them. “Oh, hey Felix, hi Annette!” she called over. “Are we in your way?”

“Yeah,” Felix called back, deadpan as ever.

“Also Atrocity’s on in five, Dimitri,” Annette added in an attempt to be helpful.

It was thwarted by Felix. “Get your ass in gear, Blaiddyd.”

“Right,” the blond man growled. He gave a brusque nod to Edelgard, and then left, brushing past Felix and Annette as if he barely saw them. Annette shivered, but no one knew it wasn’t from the cold.

_Dead eyes, _Felix thought again. _Nothing behind._

For a moment, it looked like Edelgard wanted to say something. Felix and Annette continued to head towards the gear tent, and it was only after visible hesitation that Edelgard said, “You guys killed it out there, by the way. _Dead Eyes _is a banger.”

“Thanks!” said Annette brightly. “Felix wrote it.”

Edelgard grinned. “I figured.” She paused again, and then went with, “Anyway, let me get out of your hair.”

When it was just Felix and Annette again, hauling equipment to the gear tent, Felix took a moment to study her. He had always seen her energy and fiery red hair, naturally, but was she always so _animated? _It was as though he were seeing her—really _seeing _her—for the first time. There was so much motion in her movements, so much _life. _Trying to watch too long was like staring at the sun.

For the first time in a long time, Felix felt the twang of something deep in his chest that didn’t hurt.

Whatever it was, though, was lost when Annette broke the silence. “He really does have dead eyes.”

Felix shrugged. “I always thought so.” It wasn’t exactly the truth, but it also wasn’t exactly a lie.

Another moment passed, and then Annette said, “Hey Felix, can I ask you something?”

“You just did.” He held open the tent flap for her. Because she was dragging bits of Sylvain’s kit, of course.

Annette giggled, and even _that_ was suddenly melodic. Or had it always been? “That's fair. I have another one, though.”

“Okay?” He would have to teach her to cut to the quick, instead of dancing around things.

Well, maybe just in speech. Her little dances onstage were mesmerizing and the absentminded ones she did in practice were fucking cute.

_Nope nope nope. _This was not happening. _Deny deny deny. _It was what Felix was good at, after all.

“What happened with Dimitri, exactly?”

Wait, hold on. _This _was not happening. 

“Nope,” Felix said, crushes be damned.

“That isn’t fair, Felix,” Annette said, exasperation in her voice, but no whining. It stopped Felix cold. “You, Ingrid, and Sylvain all lived through it, and you dance around it and talk without talking about it, and I’m left in the dark.”

He was reminded of what she’d said outside The Golden Deer._ It feels like I’m third wheeling a lot, even though there are already three of you. _

She was right, damn her. It wasn’t fair. 

Felix drew in a tired breath, and bought himself an extra moment to think by fussing with his guitar case. But the lid came down hard, as it always did, the clasps snapped shut tight, as they always did, and then there was nothing standing between him and her.

“Do you know what happened to the Black Iron Spurs?” Felix asked.

Annette folded her arms across her chest. Her shirt, which read _I’m Annette _in red lettering, moved with the motion. “Not offhand,” she admitted.

Felix sighed, suddenly exhausted under the weight of it. “They played a show, six years ago, at the Duscur Nightclub. Dimitri was their drummer and my…” This was the part that always hurt like hell. “...older brother, Glenn, was their singer and guitarist.”

Recognition shot across Annette’s features. “Oh no,” she breathed. “Wait, I think I do know what happened.”

“There was a shooting,” Felix said numbly. “It was all over the news; you couldn’t escape it. It killed the governor, his wife, a lot of bystanders, and everyone in the Spurs—_except _Dimitri. And they never even fucking caught the guy.”

A look of horror crossed Annette’s face. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered.

But Felix only shook his head, too numb to deal with it. “We formed Aegis, after that. We were in high school—well, Ingrid and I were—and it was mostly okay for a while. But Dimitri wasn’t _right_, and we could see it. Or at least, I could.”

Dimly, Felix became aware that Annette had reached out and was holding his hands. She was squeezing warmth into him by sheer force of will, and all of Felix’s instincts were screaming at him to _run, dammit. _He compromised by yanking his hands back and folding them across his chest, his own shirt’s _Keep him _twisting in the motion.

“Last year we played a show in Remire, up past Fhirdiad. Someone in the crowd had their concealed carry, but was too drunk to, y’know_, conceal _it. When Dimitri saw it, he just… fucking _snapped_. Went ballistic on the guy; we had to yank him off of him. Dude ended up with a broken jaw and thirteen stitches.”

Annette looked over her shoulder, as if the blond head of Atrocity’s lead singer would suddenly appear at the sound of his name. “Is that how he lost his eye?”

“I think that’s a costume,” Felix said. It hadn’t occurred to him that it might not be.

“Oh,” Annette said. “I wasn’t sure.”

“Anyway, Dimitri quit the band the next day,” Felix said, “fucked off to Fhirdiad, and none of us have really heard from him since.”

At Annette’s silence, Felix felt compelled to add, “So, there you have it. Don’t ask again.” More softly he added, “Please.”

He was suddenly in her arms. She had moved like lighting; Felix hadn’t even seen it. How did she _do _that?

“I’m so sorry,” Annette murmured into his collarbone, squeezing him with every ounce of force in her body. “I didn’t know.”

It felt weird, to be cared about like this. Felix sort of wished she would stop, and sort of basked in her attention. His heartbeat pounded painfully in his chest, and when he could stand it no longer, he patted her back a few times. Annette, ever the thespian, took her cue to let go.

But the thing in his chest mourned the loss of her softness, her warmth. He was a creature of cold edges, sharp and callous, and he was afraid of cutting too deep. It would do him no good to melt now.

“We should head back,” Annette said. “I want to see Aymr and the faculty band.” Bless her, she was offering him a way out.

He absolutely jumped on that shit. “My old fencing coach is in the faculty band this year; I would have _paid _to see that.”

He didn’t miss how Annette studied him on the way back, her blue eyes boring holes in him. Part of him wanted to call her out on it, but part of him was also giddy she cared so much. He wondered what she saw.

It was _not _the two gut-droppingly familiar figures patrolling the backstage area, though. And even Felix saw those a little too late. 

“Go that way,” Felix ordered, catching Annette’s elbow and trying to steer them away from certain disaster. 

“What?” Annette asked. 

“I _said—”_ Felix began, but it was too late. 

“Felix!” called one of the figures. 

The guitarist froze, his free hand clenching at his side. “Shit,” he muttered. Annette went still beneath his hand.

Gustave and Rodrigue were on them in an instant. “It’s good to see you, son,” Rodrigue said, giving Felix a hearty clap on the shoulder. 

Of _course, _it was the Seiros Security Company on guard duty for Carnage. They were the best private security force money could buy, and Arundel was hardly the type to spare expense. There was no reason for them_ not_ to be here, especially with this town’s history of mass shootings at fucking concerts.

That didn’t make it hurt less, though. 

“Hi, dad,” Felix muttered. Never mind his own discomfort, he needed to get Annette out of here. “Fancy seeing _you_ here.”

Rodrigue didn’t miss the inflection—he never did—but he let it pass without comment. “You’re looking more and more like your brother, up there.”

_And I’m still not him, _Felix wanted to shout. “Thanks, I guess.”

Rodrigue was more than used to his son stonewalling him in conversation. He was almost as much a natural at drawing words out of the surly young man as his bandmates were. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. Was his father_ that_ dense? “Are_ you?” _Felix shot back. 

Annette’s eyes flashed helplessly at him—a warning sign not to take this too far, please please _please_—but Felix, for once, wasn’t looking at her. 

“This is Gilbert Pronislav,” Rodrigue said, gallantly. “Gilbert, this is my younger son, Felix.”

“We’ve met,” Gilbert said, shortly.

_Your only son, _Felix wanted to say to Rodrigue. “This is Annette Dominic,” he said instead. “She’s the new singer for Aegis.”  
  
  


Recognition crossed Rodrigue’s face; he hid it behind his manners. “A pleasure to meet you, Annette. How long have you been with the band?”

“A few months, now.” Annette may have been startled, but the one thing that never failed her was her voice. “This was our first real show, though.” She glanced to Felix, a hint of desperation in her expression. 

He would bear the brunt of his father’s ire later. “We need to finish helping Sylvain take down the rest of his kit,” Felix said. “And don’t you have patrols or something to do? Be a shame if another Duscur happened on your watch.”

Gilbert/Gustave/Whoever-He-Was staggered like he’d been physically struck, and Rodrigue’s sharp blue eyes landed on Felix with all the force of every single childhood lecture. “I will not tolerate this from you,” Rodrigue snapped.

“You don’t have to tolerate shit,” Felix said, grabbing Annette’s arm again. “We’re leaving.”

“It was nice meeting you, Mr. Fraldarius!” Annette called over her shoulder as she allowed herself to be pulled away by Felix, waving as she went.

Rodrigue’s exasperated sigh chased Felix and Annette across the end zone. 

“You didn’t have to go _that _far,” Annette muttered, mostly to herself.

Felix could only blink at her in surprise. “I piss off my dad every time I see him. Really, it’s par for the course.”

“I meant the bit about Duscur,” Annette said. “My father was on duty that night, guarding the governor.”

Oh.

Oh _no._

He really was a natural-born asshole, wasn’t he?

“Well,” said Felix after a moment, “it’s not like he doesn’t deserve a kick in the ass, too.”

Annette laughed, just a little, breathless thing. “I wish I had half your courage.”

Felix felt his face go up in flames. “It’s not courage, it’s not giving a fuck. I can teach you sometime, if you want.”

Annette laughed again, this time much more full-throated and natural and it set Felix’s heart more at ease. “Maybe I’ll hold you to that.”

Felix smirked. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

God, he was so fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Setlist for this chapter includes:
> 
> Phantom of the Opera here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=giKRecwNJxM  
Don’t Fear the Reaper https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EMovgqqRC0w  
Paint It Black here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=w7jVO6OfH0w  
Udoroth here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lClUC2Kw4hg  
Resonance, the Soul Eater Theme Song here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=N8wTmqSby0E  
Army of the Night here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0LzfNk28K-0  
Teenagers here https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=faG5mmkDbyc
> 
> Art by the lovely tiffo!
> 
> maybe one day I'll make a garage band version of Aegis' song, but ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Happy listening :)
> 
> If you like my work, [come hang out on twitter!](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)


	10. The One Where Holidays Suck

October bled into November, and suddenly Felix, Ingrid and Sylvain were flooded with texts of_ what are you doing for Thanksgiving? Christmas? Your birthday ten years from now_? from all fronts.

Parents were exhausting.

Sylvain said as much one evening at band practice, and although everyone laughed, Annette’s was melancholy. 

“Something the matter, Annie?” Ingrid asked. Felix was irrationally annoyed that she beat him to the punch, even though he knew that if he had asked, Sylvain and Ingrid would never let him hear the end of it.

Annette sighed, and gave a little shrug. “I just haven’t been home for the holidays--Thanksgiving _ or _Christmas--since I came to Garreg Mach, is all.”

Sylvain blinked a few times in surprise. “Well, what do you do, then?”

“For which?”

“Uh, both?”

Annette sighed. “Thanksgiving, I’m usually working. Christmas, I used to do stuff with Mercedes and her mom, but since she’s dating Dedue now, it’s kinda weird.”

“Wait, hold up,” Sylvain said. “You don’t do _ anything? _ For _ either _holiday?”

Annette could only offer a small, sheepish shrug. “I can’t afford to go home. The flights are always too expensive.”

Felix startled everyone when he leapt to his feet. “I’ve got a phone call to make,” he said. “Back in a minute.”

Understanding glinted in Ingrid’s eyes, but if she filled in Sylvain and Annette, Felix would never know. He was taking the stairs to the family room two at a time, mentally steeling himself for whatever was about to greet him on the other end of the line.

His father answered on the third ring. “Captain Rodrigue Fraldarius speaking, what can I do for you?”

“Hi, dad,” Felix said. “It’s me.”

“Oh, Felix.” There was careful surprise in Rodrigue’s voice. “I’m surprised to hear from you.”

“Yeah, I know, I heard it. Listen, about Thanksgiving, who all is coming this year?”

“Oh, well.” If Rodrigue was surprised before, he was downright shocked, now. “Your aunt and uncle and cousins, of course. Plus the Galateas, minus Frode and his family. The Gautiers will be there, possibly Rufus Blaiddyd...” Felix could practically see his father ticking off names on his fingers. “You and Ingrid and Sylvain, possibly a few members of the force who won’t be able to go home for the short holiday. Why do you ask?”

It was the usual suspects. There would be nothing _ too _weird about what he was about to ask, right? The thought occurred to him that maybe he should have run it by Ingrid or Sylvain first, but it was too late now.

Felix drew in a deep breath. “Annette doesn’t have anywhere to go.”

Silence fell across the line.

“Is there something I should know?” Rodrigue said after that long, agonizing moment. 

Felix’s brow furrowed. “No…?”

“Hmm.” It was noncommittal, but Felix felt like he was somehow missing something. “Well, in any case, tell Annette she’s welcome to celebrate with us. There will be plenty of food, and she and Ingrid can always share a guest room.”

Was it… really that easy?

“Okay,” said Felix after a dazed moment. “Cool.”

“Oh, and Felix?” Rodrigue didn’t wait for his son to respond. “It’s good to hear from you.”

“I’ll see you at Thanksgiving,” Felix said, and hung up.

Back downstairs, Felix’s feet didn’t even hit the landing before he announced, “You’re coming with us, Annette.”

Annette turned almost as red as her hair. “I’m what?”

“I thought that’s what you might be doing,” Ingrid said. She was smiling and nodding her approval. (Although he would never admit it, Felix was secretly relieved.)

“We go to the Fraldarius’ every year, Annie,” Sylvain said. “Felix’s dad always hosts Thanksgiving ‘cause…” Sylvain trailed off. He glanced to Felix, as if asking for permission.

Felix snorted. “Because Fraldarius manor is uncomfortably quiet without a million fuckin’ people in it.” His edges softened, just a little, when he added, “Or at least, y’know, my mom and Glenn.”

“So my family always goes,” Ingrid said, not giving anyone (least of all herself or Felix) the chance to dwell, “and Dimitri and his dad usually went, and after a while, Sylvain’s family usually went.”

“Plus my cousins,” Felix said. “You’ll fit right in.”

Annette was overcome with two emotions at once, the first being just _ overwhelmed _. She still felt like a third wheel sometimes, but clearly, her bandmates cared about her enough to make sure she wasn’t alone on Thanksgiving. That alone would have made her feel like crying. 

The second was panic, though, since: “I don’t know if I can get off work this late.”

“You said you’ve worked every holiday previously, right?” Sylvain said. “Tell ‘em to fuck off; you’ve earned one.”

“Agreed,” said Felix, looping his guitar strap over his head again.

“I, um.” Annette looked down at her mules, which were scuffed at the toes and falling apart at the heels. “Don’t know if I can afford not to.”

“We won’t let you starve or go homeless for taking a break,” Ingrid said, and Felix and Sylvain immediately agreed.

“I don’t want your money,” Annette said stubbornly.

“Then we’ll give it to Mercedes,” Felix said, “but the point remains.”

Annette narrowed her eyes at him, and said, after a moment, “You're a dick, Felix.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “We’ve been over this.”

Sylvain broke into laughter. “Hey Annette, couldn’t you just take on a few more voice lessons the following week to make up for it?”

Annette groaned, and covered her face with her hands. “I barely break even on those. I can’t imagine taking on any more.”

A sudden and uncharacteristic silence fell across the basement. Felix leaned forward over his guitar, as if catching the scent of something. “What are you charging?” he asked, his voice suddenly low and dangerous.

Annette suppressed a shiver. “Sixty bucks an hour.”

Sylvain dropped a drumstick in shock, sending it to the floor with a mighty crash, and Ingrid’s jaw hung open in surprise. 

“Double it,” Felix ordered at once. 

“I can’t do that!” Annette said. “I’ll lose clients.”

“Yeah,” said Felix, “_shitty_ clients. They’re paying you not just for your time, but also for your education and expertise. Trust me. _Double_ _it_.”

“As usual,” Ingrid said, finding her voice with a sigh, “he's not wrong, he’s just unpleasant about it.”

“Felix and I are both freelancers too, Annie,” Sylvain said. “We know it’s kinda hard to gauge what you’re worth, but we promise, you’re undercharging.”

“You can also do some googling and see what other people charge for the same service,” Felix added, “since I can see you don’t believe me.”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you,” Annette said, “I just… don’t think I’m worth that much.”

Fury roared to life in Felix’s chest. What fuckhead made her think like that? “Then triple it.”

Annette squeaked in surprise. “Are you crazy?”

“Doubling is probably a good start,” Sylvain said. “Seriously, Annette, what’s your degree in?”

She studied her scruffy shoes again, and them mumbled, “Music pedagogy and performance.”

“Bingo,” said Sylvain. “Just do it. You’ll thank us later.”

  
  


-)

Felix was startled awake late one night by his phone ringing right near his ear. It took him a few tries to grab it, and mutter a very muted, very grumpy, “What the fuck?”

“Felix. It is Dedue.”

Felix blinked a few times, trying to push sand out of his eyes. “The fuck? It’s…” He squinted at his alarm clock through the gloom. “... three in the morning.”

“I am sorry to wake you, but it is urgent, and Sylvain and Ingrid did not answer. ”

Felix smooshed the side of his face into his pillow again, setting his phone on his cheek so that it just laid there and he could bring his arms back under the covers. “Yeah, they’re asleep. _ Like I’d like to be.” _

Felix wasn’t certain, but he could have sworn he heard a faint laugh from the other end. 

“It is Dimitri.” Dedue wisely did not give that the chance to sink in. “I returned home from the third shift and cannot find him.” 

Felix felt a momentary pang of pity for the poor soul who had to work third shift with a roommate like Atrocity’s frontman. “Is his car there?” he asked. Dimitri had, once upon a time, been known to take off at night to just go aimlessly driving. It had spooked Rodrigue on more than one occasion.

“Yes. As are his keys.”

Felix blinked a few times. “Are his boots at the door?” Dimitri also went for walks at inconvenient times, If memory served. 

There was a moment of silence and some soft footsteps, and then Dedue said, “It appears so.”

One more thing came to mind. “Well, is he in the bathroom?”

And why was he helping, anyway? His groggy brain was finally catching up to the rest of him. What did he care if Dimitri went AWOL? They weren’t friends anymore. 

“The light is off.”

“That doesn't mean shit,” Felix heard himself say. “Check the shower.” 

Unbidden, Felix recalled how, more than once, he’d found Dimitri in a dark bathroom, fully clothed and crouched in the coldest water he could physically stand, staring dead-eyed at something no one else could see. Ghosts, maybe, or the Duscur Nightclub. 

Felix tried to scrub the memory from his eyes, with less success than his spite would have hoped. All he came away with was more sand.

Quiet thuds from the other end of the line told Felix that Dedue was on the move. Then came some knocking, and a “Dimitri?” far from the receiver but loudly enough to hear. 

“Just fucking open it,” Felix said, exasperated and uncaring as to whether Dedue could hear him or not. “Have you never been in a locker room before?” 

The door cracked on the other end of the line, and then a surprised Dedue said, “What are you_ doing?” _

_ Yep, _ thought Felix. _ Sounds about right. _

There was some jostling on the other end, some unintelligible muttering from Dimitri, and then Dedue came back on the line properly. “Thank you, Felix. You were correct.”

“Usually am,” Felix said. “ Don’t call me again.” And he hung up. 

He sank back into blissful silence and pillowy comfort of his bed, already grumbling internally about how tomorrow was going to be a three-cups-of-coffee kind of day. He was of half a mind to block Dedue’s number, too, but he remembered a moment later that he’d forgotten to save Mercedes’ number. 

Then his phone rang again. 

Felix squinted at it this time before answering, and sure enough, the caller ID read “Blaiddyd’s Dog”. “What could you possibly have forgotten?” Felix muttered into the receiver. 

“Felix,” drawled a voice that was _most_ _certainly_ not Dedue’s, “why didn’t you answer me?”

“You’re drunk,” Felix said. He could practically smell the alcohol on Dimitri’s breath from here. “Go home.”

“But _ whyyy?” _ Dimitri pressed. _Jesus_, he was drunk.

“Why the fuck you think?” Why was he even talking to him, anyway?

“Ingrid and Sylvain will text me back sometimes, but you never do.”

Felix wished he could facetime just to get the proper glare off, but it wasn’t worth the effort of changing his settings. “Why the hell would I want to talk to you?”

“Because it’s Glenn’s birthday, and I thought you'd understand.”

Blind rage rose in Felix’s chest. Forget sleep; now he wanted to _ kill _ something. “ _ You _ don’t get to talk about Glenn!” He was yelling. _ Fuck _ . Ingrid was going to kill him, if he didn’t spontaneously combust in raw fury first. “And _ we _ are not friends!”

Felix slammed his phone down, Dimitri‘s voice growing fainter and fainter in the gloom. Felix pressed his face back into his pillow, pulled another pillow over his head, and waited for the noise to shut off. And it did eventually, only for his phone to go off a moment later. Felix ignored it this time, burying his head further in his pillow fort. 

He counted the rings—one, two, three, four, off. One, two, three, four, off—until his phone clattered off his bedside table and onto the floor. It continued to buzz, albeit much more quietly, and Felix was left to count breaths and heartbeats instead.

Felix tried to shut his eyes and block it out. He would not pick up. He didn’t want to talk to Dimitri or Dedue--or anyone else, for that matter. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t hung up in the first place, besides the fact that Sylvain was right again, damn him. Most of Felix's edges _were_ self-inflicted.

Irritated, Felix pulled his pillow off his head and glanced over to where his closet door stood slightly ajar. His fencing foil was in there, somewhere, alongside his medals and uniform. It was just waiting for him to get a grip and dig it out.

For a moment, Felix imagined digging through his dirty clothes and spare shoes, trying to find his familiar old sword. Maybe Sylvain would knock on his door while he was digging, asking if he was okay. Or maybe Ingrid would come yelling, telling him to shut up while she tried to sleep. Felix would brush them both off and disappear into the garage, where he’d hung a punching bag in college. It had Xs taped at various points like some sort of demented training dummy. 

It was probably still there; he hadn’t touched it in ages, and Ingrid and Sylvain would have no reason to take it down.

He imagined drilling form after form after form until his arms shook and his legs threatened to give out. He imagined moving and parrying, as if a swinging punching bag were a real opponent instead of a poor substitute. He imagined…

Nothing. 

Felix rolled back over and tried to sleep, ignoring the buzzing from under his bed. 


	11. The One Where Felix Fools No One

Annette drew in a deep breath. She had practiced what she was going to say the entire bus ride to work, and now it was just a matter of knocking on her boss’s door and actually doing it. 

She could hear Felix and Sylvain in the back of her mind: _Double it. You’re worth at least that much. _

She had done the math, and damn them, they were right. Even if she lost a few clients upping her rates, or grandfathered a few in to the old ones, she would easily make enough with the rest of her students that she wouldn’t need this shitty part-time job. That said, she enjoyed the tutoring itself, and extra money was always better than not enough. So she’d made the decision to keep on as usual, at least for now. 

So why was she so nervous? This was a normal thing. People asked for holidays off all the time. And besides, who would even want to take their kids to tutoring on the days before Thanksgiving, anyway? They weren’t gonna focus. 

She knocked. 

“Annette,” said her boss as she came in, “what can I do for you? So long as it isn’t another schedule change, I’m sure we can take care of it.”

Annette almost winced. “Actually, it is.”

Her very blonde, very bitchy boss narrowed her eyes. “That’s the third time this month, Annette. I can’t keep treating you special.”

Ever since joining Aegis, Annette’s ebullient demeanor had been supported by a sort of breathless confidence she’d previously only seen in movies or onstage. She knew her boss was trying to make her feel bad about asking for things; she wouldn’t let her. 

“I can’t predict my schedule when the work assignments only come out weekly,” Annette said. 

Her boss steepled her fingers. “Everyone else seems to.”

Annette knew for fact that was not true; it was a frequent break time conversation between sessions. “Well, not speaking for them, _I_ can't. And I’d like to take Thanksgiving week off this year.”

Why was her boss smiling? 

“I'm afraid I can’t do that,” said her boss. “Too many people have requested off that week already.”

Anger and disappointment boiled in Annette’s stomach, and she struggled to keep her face impassive. She had never been great at that, but blowing up was unprofessional. “What if I find a sub?”

“Nope,” said her boss crisply, “sorry. You’ll just have to come in over Thanksgiving.” She leaned over her desk a bit to look Annette dead in the eye. “You. Specifically.”

Warning bells chimed in the back of Annette’s mind. “Why?” she asked, openly suspicious.

“I need people I can trust to man the fort while I’m gone.”

Annette’s eyes narrowed. She should have been made an assistant manager by now, for how much the students liked her and how hard she worked, and all the parents knew it. She also knew that her boss would never promote her; she’d overheard the supposedly-secret conversations in the break room. People here less time and with a less stellar reputation had been promoted over her, just because the boss liked them better. It was bullshit, and they all knew it. Three of those assistant managers had also left already, leaving their store just as short-staffed as it started.

“I’ve worked every holiday since I started here three years ago,” Annette said. “Are you sure you won’t reconsider?”

“You’re working,” said her boss, much more firmly and now annoyedly. 

“Fine,” Annette said, and with the bubbling, boiling anger in her stomach, added, “then I quit.”

She was halfway out the door before she heard her boss yelp, “Now wait just a minute. You can’t walk out on us!”

“Right-to-work state!” Annette called over her shoulder without breaking stride. Felix would be so proud of her.

She willed her hands not to shake as she gathered her things from the back room. Annette was too frazzled to go over her mental checklist as she shrugged on her coat and backpack, and so she settled for just praying she had everything. It wasn’t as if she were ever coming back here.

Her manager was hot on her heels. “Annette, we need you here.”

Annette turned to face her, eyes blazing. “Sorry,” she said without a hint of irony, “you’ll just have to come in over Thanksgiving.” She jerked her chin up to stare her former boss in the eye. “You. Specifically.”

She left her boss in the break room, flabbergasted. 

On her way out, her favorite student and her grandma were just coming in the door for their weekly appointment. She stopped, crouched to the girl’s eye level, and said, “I’m not going to be your tutor anymore, Maya, but I want you to remember that you’re much smarter than you think; you just need to take your time. Okay?”

Maya nodded solemnly, and her grandmother looked confusedly at Annette. “Is everything alright, dear?”

Annette nodded—“It will be.”—and got up to leave. 

“Annie Dominic, you can't just…!” Abruptly, her boss cut herself off at the sight of clients. “Oh, hello Mrs. Kirsten. Annette will be right with you.”

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Annette said, giving Mrs. Kirsten a pointed glance. “I don’t work here.”

Understanding flittered across the woman’s face. “Terribly sorry to see you go, dear.”

The wind outside was cold and biting, and it was only then that Annette realized she was effectively trapped until the next bus came. 

Which wasn’t for another hour. 

In the growing dark, Annette began to panic. There was nowhere around here that she could park herself and wait, like a library or coffee shop, and she certainly wasn’t waiting at a bus stop for over an hour in the freezing cold with her threadbare hat and mittens.

She was halfway through dialing Mercedes’ number before she remembered that her roommate had the third shift tonight. Annette then debated calling Ingrid, but remembered that Aegis’ bassist had night classes on Wednesdays. Sylvain was another option, but if Annette were being honest with herself, he was probably the last person she wanted to ask for a ride, for fear of what he might be doing when he picked up the phone (and of what might be caked to the seats in his car, for that matter).

So she gathered her courage, and called Felix. 

“Yo?” He said when he picked up. 

“Felix, hi!” Annette was suddenly aware of how high-pitched her voice sounded. “Are you, um, busy right now?”

“Not overly,” he drawled. “What’s up?”

“Um.” God, how was she supposed to say this? “So, I quit my shitty tutoring job just now…”

“Proud of you,” Felix interrupted. 

“...And, um…” Annette’s cheeks grew painfully hot in the stinging cold. “... would you mind coming to pick me up? The bus isn’t for another hour and I don’t really have anywhere to—”

“Text me the address,” Felix interrupted. “I’ll be there in a few.”

Annette’s small shoulders sagged in relief. “Thanks, Felix. Sorry to be a bother.”

“You aren’t.”

She could feel her earlier blush creep down her neck.

-)

Annette had never been in Felix’s car before. They’d all taken the band’s van, which was neither glamorous nor clean-smelling, to schlep stuff to Carnage. But Felix’s ride was a sleek black thing that smelled faintly of leather and pine, like him. 

She was babbling—about work, about school, about Aegis—as he drove, and she knew it. But she also didn’t know how to stop. He was so unbearably close, sitting across the center console like that, his unmistakable presence pressing on her periphery like a weight. Annette needed to find some way to distract herself before her mind wandered somewhere she didn’t want it to go—or worse, she reached out.

Plus, Felix didn’t _seem_ annoyed with her. But it could be hard to tell with him sometimes. 

At one point, he inputted, “Hey, have you eaten yet?”

Warning bells began to sing in Annette’s mind. This was the single most anxiety-inducing question one could ask a broke grad student. “Not yet, but that’s okay. I brought dinner to work.” A quick survey, however, told her that her grocery bag of canned tuna and saltines was not in her backpack. “Shit, I think I left it there.”

“Fuck going back,” said Felix without any real fire, “wanna get dinner?”

Yes, _God_ yes, with all of her heart, but no, God _no_, with the eleven thirty-seven left in her wallet for another week. 

“Oh, um…” Annette grew steadily redder as Felix idled at a stoplight and had the chance to actually turn to look at her. She couldn’t handle those eyes, so she looked away. “That’s okay. I don’t want to be a bother. Thanks, though!”

“My treat,” Felix added at her hedging. 

“I can’t let you do that!”

“Sure, you can. You just need to hush up and let me.” Something else seemed to click in his brain. “Do you like sushi?”

As if she had ever eaten anything so expensive! “I’ve never tried it,” Annette murmured, shame burning in her cheeks. Felix had come from money; of course, he had expensive taste.

“Do you want to? There’s my favorite place right up there.” He gestured to a vaguely Japanese-looking building up ahead at the next intersection. 

_Double it. You’re worth it, _he had said. It had bounced about in Annette’s brain like the old Windows screensaver from the moment he’d said it.

She smiled, suddenly and uncharacteristically shy. “Okay.”

-)

Had Felix not been dressed in combat boots and a Coheed and Cambria shirt, Annette would have thought herself woefully underdressed for this restaurant, even though she’d just come from work. There was a koi pond under the entryway—a _koi pond! _With real fish!_—_and lacquered artwork on the walls. The servers were all dressed in white button downs, and most of the guests looked to be middle aged or older. 

She couldn’t let Felix pay for this! She’d have felt bad ordering at Chipotle, for God's sake, let alone somewhere this fancy. 

“Felix...” She tried, uneasily, but he was already talking to the host, holding up two fingers. 

He was a lean, intense man, and Annette had always thought so. But it was one thing to see him play guitar with single-minded focus, or to bear witness to the unending one-upmanship that was his friendship with Sylvain. It was quite another to watch him comfortably stride right up to the maître d at a fancy restaurant like he belonged there. Like he was daring someone to comment otherwise.

They were seated at a small, intimate table in the corner by a window, and it did absolutely nothing to soothe Annette’s nerves. She didn’t belong here in this restaurant, with this boy, with her backpack full of half-done homework and threadbare cardigan that should have been thrown out four washes ago.

“Felix…” she tried again, but he held up a hand and cut her off. 

“Consider it a ‘congrats, you told your shitty boss to stuff it’ gift.”

“But…”

“Annie,” Felix said, exasperated but with amber eyes warm, “seriously, enough.”

And God, those _eyes. _When he became just the tiniest bit softer, like this, they became positively molten. A girl could get herself lost in those eyes, and Annette would only admit to herself, very, very privately, that she perhaps already had.

That was about when the server showed up. Annette panicked, ordered a water, and earned herself a sharply raised eyebrow from Felix. 

“What?” she asked, the picture of innocence.

Felix leveled her in a steely glare she’d only ever previously seen used on Sylvain (and Ingrid, once)—and just like that, the warmth in his eyes was gone, shuttered away like candlelight in December’s window frames.

Annette took that as her cue to look at the menu, and immediately took note of the lack of dollar signs and direct Japanese imports. There was nothing on the menu she’d feel even remotely comfortable ordering on her own dime, let alone someone else’s. Even the salads were in double digits!

She wanted to open her mouth again, to tell Felix she wasn’t hungry or that she wasn’t going to let him pity her, but more so, she didn’t want to watch that light get chased out of his eyes again. He was so insistent, and so considerate, even in his exasperation. A gift, he’d called it. Not a loan, or a moment of pity, but a _gift_. And he clearly didn’t mind too terribly much that he’d be spending a cable and internet bill’s worth of money on their meal.

Maybe… she would just see what he ordered and get something similarly priced? That sounded okay.

“What are you thinking about getting?” Annette asked.

“I always get the Spider Roll with extra wasabi on the side. You?”

“I, um...” She resisted the urge to call him a dick. He’d picked her up, no questions asked, and was even buying her dinner. It wasn’t his fault she had no idea what she was reading, or that she absolutely loathed that feeling. “...don’t really know what I’m looking at, to be honest.” It also seemed in poor taste to pull out her phone start googling words at the table, but Annette didn’t feel the need to mention that bit.

“Oh, shit, my bad.” Felix spent the next several minutes patiently walking her through the menu, explaining what this meant and that was, the differences between kinds of sushi (there were many, apparently), and translating some of the words and phrases.

By the time the server came back, Annette was reasonably certain she’d ordered something she might actually enjoy (and also didn’t cost as much as she spent on groceries for almost a month, which she considered a victory).

But without the menus, there was nothing left on this small table between her and Felix, except for a couple of glasses and two sets of chopsticks. Annette’s heartbeat thundered in her ears as he caught her eye again. This was so much worse than sitting across the center console from him. At least when he was driving, he had to watch the road. There was nothing to stop those amber eyes from settling on her, now. Annette felt something heat up and fall through her stomach as he studied her.

“So, what will you do with all your free time now?” Felix asked.

“I don’t know.” She gave a little self-depreciating laugh. “I might sleep finally?”

Most people snapped at her when she said something like that—Mercedes included, in her own soft way—but Felix only nodded somberly. “Lord knows you could use it.”

Something in his face made that thing that had fallen through her stomach turn cold and heavy. She had grown used to Felix and his moods, just like she’d gotten used to dodging things Ingrid threw, jokingly or otherwise, and subverting Sylvain’s incessant innuendos, intentional or otherwise. But this was different than his typical resting bitch face (of which she’d never seen one more flawless). This was more like when they’d run into his father backstage at Carnage.

Felix looked like he was hiding genuine pain.

It fell out of her mouth before she could stop to think that perhaps Felix wasn’t the kind of person to question in public, but: “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Felix grunted, “why?”

Gently, Annette set down her glass to look at him. “You don’t seem fine.”

Felix looked down at his hands, which for the first time, Annette noticed were scarred across the knuckles. “It was Glenn’s birthday on Monday,” he finally said, quietly.

“Your older brother.” It wasn’t a question.

Felix nodded. “He would have been thirty. We would have thrown him a party, with all the obnoxious thirty-themed shit we could find, and I’d be calling him old and he’d be calling me a little shit.” Felix’s lips turned up briefly in a faint smile that faded far too soon. “Instead, I get drunk Dimitri calling me from Dedue’s phone ‘cause he knows I blocked his number.”

Annette recoiled in visible shock. “Was he okay?”

“No, but he never is.” His tone announced that the topic was closed.

Annette wanted to say that she was sorry, but she also knew that was the most useless phrase when it came to grief. Sorry didn’t bring back absent fathers and dead brothers, and it didn’t stop mothers from crying and survivors from hurting. So instead, she said, “Can you tell me about him? Glenn, that is.”

Felix looked more surprised than Annette had ever seen him, even when she hugged him unexpectedly. For a moment, he could only stare, those amber eyes guarded and wary. 

But then, the light filtered back in, a little. The December shutters opening just enough to see the candle beyond softly flicker.

“He would have liked you,” Felix finally said. “Glenn was always telling me to smile more so my face didn’t get stuck like this.” He gestured to his face; his edges, as ever, were etched in stone. “As you can see, it didn’t really work.”

Annette giggled. “Just telling someone to smile doesn’t help; you have to do something to cause it.”

“I mean,” said Felix, “he did that, too. Glenn was a fucking goof.” That same, sad smile came again, but a little less cold this time, and with a little more light from behind the shutters. “Ingrid used to say he got all the charm in the family.” Annette found that hard to believe, but conceded internally that she’d never met Glenn. “Did you know he once talked his notoriously hardass philosophy professor into making the final exam a take-home? Glenn didn’t have to buy alcohol for _months_.”

Annette giggled. “Did Ingrid and Sylvain know him, too?”

“Oh, yeah. They were over all the time, growing up. Ingrid and Glenn were even dating for a while before…” His face fell again. 

Annette reached out and squeezed Felix’s scarred, calloused hands like it was the most natural thing in the world. He gave a violent start, but didn’t pull away. “That must be hard,” she said.

“Some days are easier than others,” was all Felix said.

“I get that.” Annette was forced to take her hands back as their meals arrived, and she found herself mourning the loss. “So, um, is there a special way to eat this?”

She was rewarded with a soft, hoarse laugh, and another patient explanation of chopsticks and ginger. When he reached over to rearrange her fingers on the thin wooden implements, she could feel the gentle pressure of his guitar string-deadened fingertips, the surprisingly soft skin besides. She wondered what those fingers would feel like threaded through her hair, and then immediately blushed crimson.

“Chopsticks just take practice,” Felix said, taking her blush for something else entirely. “Don’t worry about it.”

Her meal didn’t exactly _look _appetizing, but it did look how sushi was supposed to, Annette was pretty sure. She tried not to regret agreeing to this as she popped the first maki roll into her mouth and chewed.

Felix was watching her, a piece of fish suspended between chopsticks over his own meal—waiting. His eyes were so guarded, so wary. Annette wished the warmth would return. She wasn’t prepared to admit to herself what she wouldn’t give for him to look at her like that again.

Texturally, sushi wasn’t _so_ different from cooked food, but mostly, Annette could practically hear her insides crying out in joy as she ate something actually fresh. Not frozen, not instant, and not canned, but fresh and vibrant, like food should be. For an absurd moment, she felt tears prick at her eyes. 

Felix’s expression instantly dropped from shyly curious to angrily concerned. “Something wrong?” he demanded. 

“No, no, no,” Annette said with an embarrassed laugh. “I just… haven’t eaten anything this good in ages.”

His hackles lowered, just a little. “That’s _terrible, _Annette.”

She gave a little shrug and popped another maki roll into her mouth. Really, it was pretty good, once she mind-over-mattered the raw fish thing. “It’s just kind of what happens when you live off kidney beans and ramen.”

“I know,” Felix said. “Stop doing that.”

Annette laughed, and didn’t miss how red Felix’s face got. It spread across his angular cheekbones and crept down his neck, and Annette found herself wondering where else it spread. “It’s not that easy.” She hurriedly ate another bite of sushi before she said something irrevocably stupid.

“It kind of is.” Felix paused to eat another bite of wasabi-drenched crab. “Let Ingrid feed you when you come over for band practice, and that’s one better meal you don’t have to worry about.”

Aegis’ bassist had offered, of course. More than once. _There’s so much food_, Ingrid had said numerous times via text and in person. _Crock pots make enough for a family of five. You’re not putting us out anything, we swear._

But Annette couldn't shake the feeling that she was a burden. “I don’t want to impose.”

“Are you joking?” Felix snapped. “You’d be doing us a favor. All of Ingrid’s recipes are imported directly from her mother, and their family of eight.”

Annette paused, another roll halfway to her mouth. “Ingrid’s from a family of _eight?”_

“Yeah, she has five brothers.”

“How did I not know this?” Annette was dumbfounded. “What about you and Sylvain? Are there more Gautiers I should be aware of?”

Felix gave that same hoarse laugh again, and Annette felt warmth spread across her chest like butter in a hot skillet. “Sylvain just has one shithead older brother we don't really talk to anymore, and I…” He paused, the light fading out of his gaze. “...just had Glenn.”

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Annette could have kicked herself. She was so _stupid._ “I’m sure it’s hard enough without me going and bringing it up again.”

“No,” said Felix, more gently than his usual. “It’s… kind of a relief to talk about him, actually. Like he isn’t just…” He made a loose, fluttering motion with his free hand.

“Gone?” Annette supplied.

Felix chewed thoughtfully on a piece of sushi. “Forgotten,” he said, after a moment.

Annette gave a small smile. “I’m sure your parents haven’t forgotten him.”

“It’s actually just my dad.”

This time Annette _did _try to kick herself.

“Hey!” Felix shoved one of Annette’s legs away from the other with his boot, and she thought she might genuinely burn up of embarrassment. “Don’t _do _that; you didn’t know.”

Annette felt the need to give up some of her secrets, too. It seemed like it was only fair. “It’s just me and my mom, too, y’know.”

“Yeah,” Felix said, even more gently now. “You mentioned that, at Oktoberfest.”

Annette deflated at the memory, even as a small part of her brain was dancing about with a broom, singing _he remembers, he remembers, he remembers. _“Oh, yeah. I guess I did.”

He was quiet for a long, awkward moment, and then words came tumbling out of his mouth: “Tell me about her.”

“My mom?”

Felix nodded.

“Okay,” Annette said, “um.” It had been a long time since anyone had asked her about her mom. What should she say? What did he even care to know? “She’s a singer, like me. She used to sing as a studio musician and teach music lessons, back home.”

Felix’s ears pricked up. “Used to?”

Damn him and his observant nature. “She got sick,” Annette said, unable to look him in the eye, “right around when my dad left. It was throat cancer.”

Felix’s whole body seemed to wince at the news. Had he always been so expressive, or was it the absence of Ingrid and Sylvain that made him move so freely?

“She’s in remission, now.” Annette couldn’t stop herself from contemplating the universe in her California roll. “But she can’t really sing anymore.”

“That… sucks,” Felix said. He looked like there was more he wanted to say, but nothing was forthcoming.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t in Annette to stay down for too long, though. “But my uncle has always been really great about helping us out. We moved out there after my dad left, since he wasn’t about to let my mom go through chemo alone when there was Comprehensive Cancer Center in town. He was usually the one picking me up from band practice after school, and sending Mercedes home with extra flour or sugar or something.” She let out a small giggle at the memory. “She usually came back with treats, and my mom was guaranteed to at least try to eat those.”

Felix shook his head, and elegantly scooped up another piece of crab. “Your whole family needs a goddamn break.”

Annette genuinely laughed; her stomach felt light as air. “Right though?

They ate in companionable silence for a moment, but then Felix glanced across the room and nearly choked.

“Whoa, hey!” Annette said, pushing her water towards him.

Spluttering, Felix waved her off, and took a moment to chug half his coke. He thumped a hand against his chest a few times, took another sip, and then finally set his drink down, quieted.

“You okay?” Annette asked.

His voice was even hoarser. “Remember how I said Sylvain has a shithead older brother we don’t talk to?”

Annette shivered. “What does that have anything to do with…?”

“He just walked in the door with Arundel.” 

Annette’s jaw dropped. “Arundel? Like, the guy who organizes Carnage, Arundel?”

“Yeah.” Felix seemed to be debating several courses of action, and settled for angling his chair closer towards the window and away from the front entrance. “Shit, don’t let him see me. And _don’t _turn around to look!”

Annette stopped twisting, and scooted her chair over to help block him from view. “Why?” 

But it was too late.

“Holy shit,” came a rough, roguish voice. “Is that little Fraldarius?”

A redheaded man that was easily the size of a freighter came to a stop beside their little table. He was dressed in a gaudy white suit that just barely offset the ragged, diagonal scar that ran across his face, and on his thick fingers were several rings that looked like they could probably cover Annette’s remaining tuition.

“Do I know you?” Felix deadpanned. Annette almost choked on the bite she’d just taken.

The man--Sylvain’s brother--pulled a face. “Well, look at that. You grew up to be just as unpleasant as Glenn.”

Annette decided immediately that Sylvain’s brother could go to hell. 

“Thing is,” Felix said, a vein visibly twitching at his temple as he carefully set down his chopsticks, “you kind of look like the shithead older brother of a friend of mine. But that guy is supposed to be in jail for the next decade, so I’m not sure who the fuck you think you are.”

Sylvain’s older brother laughed, a sound like cigar smoke and gravel. “Jail is for poor people.” He leaned over their table, and Annette got the impression that if he could, he’d be blowing smoke rings right into their eyes. “Don’t you know?”

_Never mind, _Annette thought. _He can go to hell and hit every circle on the way down._

Suddenly, Arundel himself was standing beside their table, and Felix grew visibly jittery, his foot bouncing off the tile floor like he was playing one of Sylvain’s kick drums. Annette fervently wished she could calm him down, but hadn’t the faintest idea how to do so without drawing attention to it. She cursed, loudly and blackly, in her mind.

“I take it you’ve met Aegis, Miklan?” Arundel said.

Miklan let out a barking laugh. “Aegis? Is that still a thing?”

Arundel looked just as surprised as Felix did incensed. “They played at Carnage this year,” said Arundel. “Very successfully, I might add.”

Miklan looked surprised--but it was kind of hard to tell, with how his face moved around his scar. “I thought Blaiddyd ran screaming after Duscur?”

“Miklan,” Felix said, “I say this with all of my heart--fuck off.”

Miklan laughed again, but Arundel raised an eyebrow. “I take it you're acquainted with the young Mister Blaiddyd, as well?”

Miklan snorted. “I babysat the freak.”

Annette’s eyes widened in horror at the thought of this man watching _anyone’s _child.

Arundel sighed. “_Must _you be so charming?” 

“Of course,” said Miklan. “Classic Gautier ladies' man,” he added with a wink towards Annette.

The California roll she’d been eating threatened to come right back up.

“No wonder the girls like Sylvain better,” Felix said dryly. “That was horrifying.”

“Come on, then,” Arundel cut in smoothly as Miklan geared up to holler. “Let’s stop giving the poor hostess an aneurysm.”

It was then that both Annette and Felix noticed the host standing awkwardly near an empty table across the room, clutching two menus to her chest and looking stricken.

“Don’t let us keep you,” Felix said, and pointedly turned back to his meal.

“Tell Sylvain I say hello!” Miklan called over his shoulder as he allowed Arundel to steer him away.

Felix waited until they were out of earshot before he said, sharply, “Do _not _tell Sylvain.”

She nearly dropped her phone in surprise. “What? Why?”

“He will _not _take it well.”

Annette looked from her phone to her dinner, but found she’d suddenly lost her appetite. “Don’t you think he’d want to know? It’s his brother.”

“Annette.” Felix was visibly anxious, leaning across the table and pitching his voice low enough to make her shiver. “This is super-triple-top-secret that you didn’t hear from me.” He caught her eye, making sure he had her full attention, and Annette grew still under that intense, amber gaze. “Miklan is the reason Sylvain has tried to kill himself _twice_. Do not tell him we just saw him, and especially not over text.”

Annette’s jaw dropped so far she heard it crack._ “What?”_

But Sylvain was so cheerful, so clever and kind. How could someone so bright possibly hide a secret that dark?

“I’m getting the bill.” Felix was suddenly on his feet, shrugging on the blue, fur-lined jacket he always wore. “You want a box?”

Annette looked down to her half-finished meal. “Please.”

Felix nodded, something hard like flint coming into his eyes. The shutters were battening down for a storm; there would no more soft, flickering candlelight tonight. “Do me a favor and text Edelgard, would you?”

Annette tried hard to shove down the irrational spike of hurt. “What does she have to do with anything?”

“I want to know why her uncle is hanging out with the Fhirdiad Mob.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoying the fic? Come hang out with me on Twitter—@madshatter1


	12. The One Where Sylvain Word Vomits

“Some time away will do Sylvain good,” Ingrid was saying as she and Felix hauled their suitcases out of the van. 

“That’s a lie and we both know it,” Felix said with a grunt. “Garreg Mach _is _his time away.”

Ingrid shot him a supremely dirty look. She had already called him a hypocrite for not telling Sylvain about Miklan, to which Felix had replied that she was welcome to tell him herself.

She had not.

“Hoo,” said Annette, hopping out of the van and cracking her spine in about four places as she stretched. “That was…” She paused. “...Waaaaaay more uncomfortable than it needed to be. I feel like the van needs some seat cushions or something?”

“That’s what _I _keep saying!” Sylvain appeared out of the other side of the van, looking no worse for wear in his University hoodie. “They’re like, five bucks at Walmart.”

“You’re welcome to bite the damn bullet.” Felix punctuated the sentence with a final, solid _thump _of Annette’s orange duffel bag on the blacktop.

“What, and walk into Walmart? No thanks.”

Ingrid threw his ruddy red duffel bag at him, and Sylvain stumbled backwards with a little ‘oof!’ at the force of his clothes. “That’s the douchiest thing I’ve heard you say in a while,” Ingrid snapped. “Just because _your family_ could afford to go to Target growing up doesn't mean we all could.”

“Um,” Sylvain said, his face going redder than his hair, “I just meant the one near us reeks.”

“Oh.” Ingrid’s anger deflated.

“It does,” Felix agreed sagely. “And they have no idea why.”

Annette wrinkled her nose, and Felix felt his stomach do a funny little impersonation of a pretzel. “I hate going there, but it’s cheaper than anywhere else,” she said.

“Aldi!” Ingrid said brightly, yanking the handle out of her beat up, blue carry on.

“I’d need a car for that.” Annette shouldered her duffel bag, and looked for a moment like she might snap when the strap settled over her breastbone. “It’s so far away.”

“One of us can take you,” Felix said.

“_Felix _can take you,” Sylvain elaborated. “He’s in charge of groceries.”

Annette giggled. “Maybe.”

Felix shot Sylvain a dirty look as they began to head up the drive towards Fraldarius Manor. His drummer cheerfully ignored him.

“Ingrid,” Sylvain said, letting Annette and Felix pull ahead just out of earshot as he tugged on his bassist's sleeve, “Ingrid, you know I’d never--”

“Shut up,” she interrupted, flushing a deeply embarrassed red. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Sylvain deflated, something Ingrid refused to name welling up in those big, brown eyes. 

“Don’t you give me that look,” Ingrid said, with far, far less bite than she aimed for. 

“What look?” Sylvain asked, continuing to give it. 

Ingrid harrumphed, and went charging after Annette and Felix, only to be stopped, again, by Sylvain. He put himself bodily in her path—all six-plus feet of him—and dug his metaphoric heels in.

“Ingy.” Something uncomfortably raw lurked beneath her childhood nickname. “Talk to me. What did I do?”

She tried to push past him. “I told you, I don’t want to hear it.”

“Ingrid, I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I did.”

Ingrid sighed tiredly—“Sylvain, you’re not dumb. Figure it out.”—and moved again.

This time, Sylvain let her.

Fraldarius Manor was a Tudor-esque estate on the east side of Fhirdiad. Ingrid had never seen it in the deep winter with anything less than a foot of snow, and never in the high summer without flowers in all its window boxes. It was easy to forget that people actually _lived _there; it looked so much like something out of a storybook about knights and dragons.

“I’m just going to apologize in advance for my dad,” Felix was saying to Annette when Ingrid caught up with them. “He’s just… _like _this.”

“Rodrigue is really nice, Annette,” Ingrid inputted. “He and Felix just don’t get along.”

Their singer gave a little laugh. “I’m sure it’ll be okay.”

Felix strode right up to the double front doors, banged on them twice, and then pushed one open, calling, “Sinclair?”

Annette glanced to Ingrid, a question in her eyes. “Their butler,” Ingrid elaborated.

Annette made a strangled choking noise.

For lack of anything comforting to say, Ingrid offered, “He’s really nice.”

Annette scooted closer to Ingrid to whisper (as well as Annette ever did), “They have a _butler?”_

Ingrid immediately felt like a horrible friend for not remembering that Annette’s family was currently as broke as hers had been growing up. “Just… head inside,” Ingrid said. “You’ll get it.”

Annette drew in a breath and followed Felix through the front door, and instantly understood.

The interior was all dark, polished wood and art pieces. An imperial staircase led up to the higher floors, and a winged shape in the tiled floor could only be described as a family crest. The place oozed old money, classy and understated.

Near one of the staircase entrances, Felix was talking to an older man who kept referring to him as “young Master Fraldarius,” to which a vein pulsed in Felix’s temple. Aegis’ guitarist surrendered his duffel bag with only minor protests, and then the man came to collect everyone else’s bags.

“Miss Galatea, you’re looking lovely as ever,” the butler said as Ingrid handed over her suitcase.

“Thanks, Sinclair,” she said with a small smile. “How are your grandkids?”

The older man lit up. “They are well! My son’s youngest has started kindergarten.”

“Seriously?” Sylvain said, passing over his duffel bag, as well. “I remember when she was _born.”_

Sinclair laughed, shouldering Sylvain’s bag. “I do declare, young Master Gautier, have you grown _again?”_

Sylvain laughed, and his hand went to the back of his neck. “That’s what my mom keeps lamenting.”

Sinclair then came to a stop before Annette. “And you must be Miss Dominic.” He gave a short bow, and then held a hand out for her bag. “The Masters Fraldarius have mentioned you.”

“Hello,” said Annette, handing over her duffel bag with visible unease.

Fully loaded now, Sinclair turned to Felix. “Young Master Fraldarius, your father is in the den.”

“Thanks. Also, seriously, Felix is fine.”

Sinclair gave the sort of smile that grandparents give particularly rowdy grandchildren. Annette wondered how often Felix and his brother had received it, growing up. “When you are master of the manor, I shall call you whatever you wish.”

“Had a feeling you’d say that,” Felix muttered.

Sinclair gave a genuine belly laugh as he departed.

“Which den did he even mean?” Sylvain asked as Aegis regrouped.

“He’s being pretentious,” Felix said. “He’s talking about the basement.”

Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid chatted amiably as Felix led the way through his childhood home. Annette was relieved to find that once they exited the foyer, the house grew immediately less intimidating and a lot more like a modern house. There were normal, plaster walls with normal, family photos and the occasional painting on them. There were normal, carpeted floors with the occasional rug on them, and what looked to be a normal, albeit all black-and-white, first floor half-bath.

The kitchen, on the other hand, may have been more modern, but it was the first thing that made Annette genuinely _jealous. _There was a huge island, granite countertops, modern-looking, stainless steel appliances, and a gas stove with clean burners that didn’t have thirty years’ worth of crud caked on them.

“Wow,” Annette said breathlessly.

“Hmm?” said Felix, as he, Ingrid, and Sylvain all turned to look at her.

Annette blushed a furious crimson. “I would love to bake in this kitchen,” she admitted.

“Go for it,” said Felix. “We’re here all week.”

“_Really?” _Annette squeaked out. Sylvain laughed, and she turned even redder.

“Sure?” said Felix, clearly uncomprehending what he’d just okayed.

“Oh my God, I could actually make pralines on that stove! Ooo, or pastry dough on that counter ‘cause it wouldn't stick so much, or…!” She cut herself off, abruptly, when she realized, “Oh wait, I didn’t bring supplies.”

Felix gave a hoarse laugh. “Don’t worry about that; Sinclair has all that covered.”

Annette shrank, just a little. “You wouldn’t mind my using your flour and sugar and vanilla and…?”

“No,” Felix cut in deftly. “I don’t give a shit, and neither does my dad.”

“I will reserve judgement until I hear what, exactly, I’m not ‘giving a shit’ about,” came a new voice.

Annette had met Felix’s dad once before, backstage at Carnage. She had been too focused on avoiding her own father to really get a good look at him, though. He had the same, so-black-it-was-almost-blue hair as his son, but his eyes were a kindly blue and he also had a soft, wispy goatee. He also seemed much more at ease here in his kitchen than he had on duty at Carnage, but that wasn’t surprising.

“Annette loves baking,” Ingrid offered.

“And we love Annette’s baking!” Sylvain interjected.

“And was wondering if she could use your kitchen,” Ingrid finished with an elbow in Sylvain’s ribs.

Rodrigue laughed, a full and open sound not unlike a proper singer’s vowel. “Felix is correct. She’s welcome to it.”

Annette got out a strangled, overwhelmed, “Thank you!”

“How was the drive?” Rodrigue asked.

“Not terrible,” Felix said. “Ingrid has a lead foot though; it’s why we’re early.”

“I do not!”

Sylvain snorted. “Yes, you do!”

Exasperated, Ingrid turned to Annette, who could only offer an apologetic shrug.

Ingrid harrumphed. “I hate you all.”

Rodrigue laughed again. “It’s good to see you kids. And Annette, you’re quite welcome in our home.” He gallantly ignored how red the singer turned. “Now.” Rodrigue clapped his hands together. “Shall we have a drink and order some pizza?”

“Rodrigue,” said Sylvain warmly, clapping him on the shoulder, “you’re my favorite uncle.”

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that,” Rodrigue said, with a devious grin that Felix had absolutely inherited. “I’d be in so much trouble.”

-)

After insisting Annette not worry about paying for any of the pizza, Rodrigue told everyone to help themselves to the bar in the basement. Annette could immediately see why Sinclair (she couldn’t find it in herself to think ‘the butler’) had called it a den. It was cozy and comfortably dark, with a huge plasma screen and comfortable sectional couch that was just the right amount of worn. The whole thing was also bigger than her and Mercie’s entire apartment, and the basement bar was better stocked than the Golden Deer.

“...And _then,” _Sylvain was saying, gesticulating wildly with one hand and sloshing his Manhattan dangerously in the other, “the guy had the_ audacity _to be like, ‘oh, and I still haven’t gotten those proofs from you, and I needed them Monday.’ So I attached the email I’d sent the Thursday before, CCed my boss and his boss, and said, ‘please see attached.’”

The rest of his band lost their shit, and even Rodrigue was wiping tears out of his eyes. 

“Fucking incredible,” Felix managed. “What did he say after that?”

Sylvain geared up for another story complete with wild gesticulations, but then froze and simply said, “Thanks.”

Ingrid was wheezing now, her head between her knees, and Annette fell over onto Ingrid’s back, laughing so hard she wasn’t even making sound anymore. How long had it been since they’d all just laughed like this? Pre-Carnage?

“Alright, kids,” Rodrigue said between spurts of dying laughter, “some of us are old people who actually need to sleep at night.” He got to his feet, bringing his empty rocks glass with him. “Don’t stay up too late, now.”

“Good night!” Aegis chorused after him, with varying levels of enthusiasm.

“This kinda feels like high school, doesn’t it?” Sylvain said once Rodrigue had gone. “Just the squad, j chilling in the Fraldarius’ basement. All we need is Smash Bros and less booze and I’d swear I’m seventeen again.”

Ingrid smiled, glancing to the TV as if it were anything but black. “It kinda does.” 

“We’re missing a few,” Felix grunted, getting to his feet with his empty rocks glass.

“What do you mean, ‘a few’?” Sylvain spluttered. “We’re down one head of blond hair, but we still have this one.” He went to pat Ingrid’s head, whiffed, and then nearly toppled over her and onto the couch.

Ingrid sighed, but then was laughing as she helped Sylvain straighten back up. “I think you’ve had enough.” She deftly plucked Sylvain’s glass from his hand and set it on the table beside her.

“Do another headcount.” Felix thumped his glass down on the bar with more force than was strictly necessary.

Sylvain did so, muttering under his breath, “Me, Ingrid, Felix, Dimitri… who else even was there?” It dawned on him a moment later. “…Oh.”

All traces of laughter immediately vanished from Ingrid’s face. “It’s only two heads,” she said, quietly, to Felix.

Sylvain quieted, and then took the seat beside Ingrid. “I’m sorry.” He nudged her with his shoulder. “I’m an idiot.”

“Yes,” Ingrid said quietly and without looking at anyone, “you are.”

Annette reached out and squeezed Ingrid’s hand in a comforting gesture Felix was beginning to recognize. “Do you want to talk about him?” she asked, concern etched into every line of her soft, round face.

“No.” Ingrid drew in a sharp breath. “I don’t.” She leapt from the couch as though burned. Sylvain nearly toppled again, and this time it was Annette’s quick reflexes that saved him. “I’m going to bed.”

“Ingrid!” Felix called, looking torn between finishing what he was doing and going after his not-sister.

“Ingrid!” Sylvain echoed, sounding very drunk when he hiccupped at the end of it.

“Good _night, _boys,” she shot back over her shoulder. “And Annette.”

The stairs creaked in a familiar cadence as Ingrid hiked up them, and for a moment, the rest of Aegis was left in pregnant silence.

Then Felix sighed massively. “You go after her, Sylvain. I only ever make it worse.”

Sylvain made a face. “I think I might too, this time.”

“I’d offer,” Annette said, her hands clutching her half-empty wine glass like a life preserver, “but I’m the one that set her off, and I don’t know her nearly as well as you guys do.”

“We’re not sending you, Annette,” Felix said firmly. “An upset Ingrid is a complete bitch.”

Sylvain sighed, and got to his feet. “Pray for me, Fe?”

“Dear God,” said Felix, putting his hands together mockingly, “please prevent Sylvain from royally fucking up, as is tradition. For you are a God of mercy, and we are but men with an angry female friend. Amen.”

Annette giggled, but Sylvain turned deeply red. “You didn’t have to say that out loud,” he groused.

“Ah-men,” said Felix again, breaking the word into two syllables and enunciating even more clearly.

Sylvain waved him off. “I’m going; I’m going.” 

-)

Sylvain knew Ingrid well enough to know that she wasn’t going to be in her room here after they mentioned Glenn so tactlessly. He traced the first floor—the kitchen, the family room, the study, the other side room he’d be damned if he had a name for—but finally found her outside in the garden, shivering in the night air. 

“Hey,” Sylvain called softly.

Ingrid didn’t move from where she sat on a cold stone bench amidst dying flowers. She was wrapped in a Garreg Mach sweatshirt not unlike his own, and a for a brief moment, Sylvain wondered what his would look like on her. How much bigger would it be? When would she have stolen it from him? (He didn’t dwell on the answers, for fear it would show on his face.)

“Hey,” she said.

Sylvain came to a stop before her, suddenly unsure of what to do with his hands, his shoulders, his mouth—any of it. “What do you need?”

For a long, long moment, Ingrid remained silent.

“I don’t know,” she finally said. “The world to stop turning, maybe.”

“Can’t do that for you, tragically.” Sylvain chuckled softly. “This seat taken?”

Ingrid said nothing, but scooted over enough for Sylvain to sit beside her. The bench was small enough that he could feel her leg down the entire length of his, their knees touching, elbows battling for a place to rest.

He debated telling her, right then and there. He debated telling her that kissing her at her cousin’s wedding was not the result of too much wine and romance in the air. That playing drums behind her all the time was killing him, one hip check at a time. That Glenn was dead, but she wasn’t, and he would remind her of that his every waking moment, if she’d only let him.

But he didn’t.

“I hate coming back here,” Ingrid said.

Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “You do?”

“I mean.” Ingrid sighed, her breath coming out as puffs of frost. “Yes and no. I hate coming back because it reminds me that we’re all so different now, but everything here is still the same. Felix’s dad doesn’t even have greyer hair, for God’s sake.”

“I get that,” Sylvain said. “But it’s why I like coming back here. Not everything has to change, y’know?”

Ingrid made a noncommittal grunt, and looked down to her hands, chapped red in the cold.

Sylvain knew she was trying to shut him out. She was so much like Felix that way. But he had always been better at getting Ingrid to talk to him. It had been Dimitri who had been good at prying things out of Felix.

“Hey, hey, Ingrid. Talk to me.”

She didn’t look at him, didn’t move. “You don’t want that,” she said, so quietly Sylvain almost missed it.

“Yes, I do.” _I want you, all of you. All your thoughts, all your hate, all your love, everything. _Sylvain sounded pathetic, even to his own ears.

When she finally raised her chin up, defiantly, to look him in the eye, tears glittered in the corners of her own. “I’m not like them, Sylvain. I can’t just forget about him, and… move on. Like it’s that easy.”

“Like who?” Sylvain struggled to put to mind whom she could possibly mean. “Felix hasn’t forgotten his brother, and I haven’t, and Rodrigue definitely hasn’t. Didn’t you see Glenn’s fencing medals on the mantle in the living room?”

“Always.” There were tears streaking down her cheeks, now. Sylvain cursed a vendetta against each and every one of them. “I can’t miss them—or how there will never be any more.”

“Ingrid…” He said her name over and over and over again, like a fitful prayer, as he gently cupped her cheeks and chased off the invaders with dexterous flicks of his thumbs. “You’re only hurting yourself when you think like that.”

“And how am I supposed to think?” she got out. “We were talking about getting _married, _Sylvain. And now my dad keeps asking me if I’m seeing anyone—_like it’s that fucking easy.” _She drew in a ragged breath, and Sylvain quietly continued his war. “And I know he’s going to ask me about it on Thursday, while I’m in the _Fraldarius’ _house, and Felix’s dad is _still_ treating me like a daughter, and Felix’s little cousins _still_ call me Auntie Ingrid, and I…” She hiccupped in teary rage. “...And I…”

“Hey,” Sylvain interrupted her tearstained rant as gently as he could. “Hey, Ingrid. It’s okay.” He’d had one too many to stop to think of the consequences of lowering his face down to hers. “You’re okay. I’m here.” He could feel her breath mingling with his, could see every tear clinging to her soft, blonde eyelashes.

“No!” Ingrid clapped her hand over his mouth, and Sylvain’s head jerked back. She was pulling away from his hands, putting cold air and distance between them. “Stop that right now!”

Sylvain felt like he’d been kicked in the gut, and whatever Ingrid saw shift in his face caused her to soften.

“I know you’re trying to help,” she said quietly, taking her hand back, “and that you only know how to interact with women a certain way, but Sylvain, seriously, _no.”_

Sylvain’s brain was spinning its wheels, trying to make sense of her and him and what just happened. “What do you mean, I only know how to act a certain way?” 

“I refuse to end up like the other girls you talk to, Sylvain.” Ingrid was so painfully, wretchedly beautiful when she sat in the starlight like this. “I won’t be a conquest you just walk away from in the morning.”

He was genuinely hurt by the accusation. It tore at his insides and oozed like poison through his brain. “I would never!” 

Fresh tears began spilling over in Ingrid’s evergreen eyes, and Sylvain felt his heart freeze over in the early winter chill. “I’m telling you about my dead ex-boyfriend—who was also, need I remind you, a good friend of yours—and you’re trying to kiss me! What in the hell else would you be doing?”

“You’re _alive, _Ingrid.” Sylvain was desperately clutching any part of her he could reach, trying to hold onto her and keep them steady. “You have new thoughts and feelings and people who care about you and want you to grow and be happy. You can’t do that when you’re clinging to the past.”

“How dare you!” Ingrid jerked backwards so fast she nearly toppled the bench over. “Spit on Glenn’s grave, why don’t you?”

“That isn’t what I’m saying, and you know it!” Sylvain tried to close the distance between them again, fighting Ingrid’s defensive shoves the whole time. “Glenn was the closest thing I had to an older brother, and I curse that gunman just as much as you or Fe. I miss him all the time—when we’re onstage, when we’re sitting in the Fraldarius’ basement, when Felix shuts down and I wish I had someone to talk to about it, when I watch you watch Felix and Annette interact and you smile but there’s so much pain in it.” Sylvain drew in a deep breath. “But he isn’t coming back, Ingrid. You have to accept that.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid,” Ingrid snapped. “Of course he isn’t.”

“Then let _go.” _Pride be damned, Sylvain was hearing himself beg. “_Please, _Ingrid. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.”

“Then don’t!” Ingrid was on her feet now. “Nobody asked you to--”

“Dammit, Ingrid!” Sylvain was on his feet now, too, putting himself squarely in her path. “I am going to love you anyway, whether you want it or not!”

For a moment, Ingrid was shocked into silence, shaking with tears and rage and God only knew what else. 

“I’m won’t be like them, Sylvain,” she finally whispered. “You can’t leave if you don’t stay.”

“Of course I’m staying,” Sylvain said, just as quietly. “When have I ever left you?”

“Right now,” Ingrid whispered. “This isn’t you. You’re drunk, and you don’t want this.”

“Let me prove it,” Sylvain said, a tinge of desperation in his voice.

He loomed over her, now, their bodies so close heat sparked between them.

“You’re doing it again,” Ingrid told him. “Talking to me like you want something more from me.”

“I _do _want something more from you,” Sylvain said with the kind of honesty seen only in drunks and toddlers, “but not if you don’t.”

The world froze for a moment, and Sylvain almost gave a choked laugh. _Looks like I can stop the world turning after all, Ingrid. _It died on his lips as he studied her, unable to read her facial expression or stop the pounding of his heart. 

So this was it, then. He’d finally laid his cards all out on the table, just like Felix had told him to do when he’d gotten back from the wedding way back before Carnage, and with about as much eloquence as Felix had annoyedly given.

Ingrid’s silence was deafening.

“You can’t… just… _do _that,” she finally said. “You can’t just…” She was spluttering, her hands gesticulating and pain in her expression. “...Tell me it’s up to me and then look at me with those eyes!”

“How else would I look at you?”

The elbow in his ribs was familiar, comforting. She really was the same Ingrid; he really was the same Sylvain. Nothing would ever change how often he got on her nerves, or her reaction to it.

He wondered if she hated that, too.

“Felix just thinks of me like his sister,” she added, something desperate in her voice now, too. “Why can’t you?”

“Because you’re pretty,” Sylvain said, and it all came tumbling out, “and you’re talented, and you’re smarter than I’ll ever be. Because when you light up with fire, I can’t breathe, and when you play bass, you look so beautifully at peace I don’t ever want to interrupt. Because you immediately want to know what medication I’m taking and how it might affect me, and remind me not to drink too much ‘cause I’m still on Lexapro and it’s a nasty combo. Because Felix loves you like the sister he was supposed to have, but I love you like…” He didn’t know how to put it into words.

So he closed the final distance between them and kissed her.

She tasted faintly of lemon and vodka, and Sylvain was drunk on it. He crushed her to his chest, expecting her to shove him away and end it all. He would have to slink back to the basement with his tail between his legs, or maybe his room to sleep off the rest of this nightmare. He would sit across from her and her brothers on Thanksgiving and pretend like his insides didn’t hurt and something mattered and--

She was kissing him back. Her hands had come up to his collar and she’d drawn him closer and _holy hell she was kissing him back. _

Sylvain tried to convey everything he had been trying to say since he’d gotten outside in his kiss. _I love you. I’m sorry I’m not Glenn, and I’m sorry he isn’t here. You’re the brightest thing in my life and I can’t stand the thought of leaving you behind or alone with your past. Please, please, please let me in._

He pulled her flush against his hips, holding her to him as tightly as he possibly could. She fit against him like his other half, a missing piece of the ever-evolving puzzle of his life. She was small and warm in his arms, and her vaguely floral shampoo was heady in his nose. He could die right then, and it wouldn’t even matter.

_No. _He chased the thought away. _I won’t leave. _He had promised.

The end of a kiss was an underrated thing, Sylvain had always thought. It was so easy to get wrong, and so easy to ruin a good thing with. That’s why he was also so, _so_ careful to put as much emphasis on it as he did on the beginning. And so when he pulled away, his hand was still resting softly on her cheek, the other holding her solidly to him, and he nuzzled her cheek on the way out.

“Because I love you, Ingrid.” He said against her skin. “Always have.” 

“You can’t… just… _do _that,” Ingrid said again, her voice ragged and breathing uneven.

“I can do it again, if you want?” He watched for her reaction through half-lidded eyes, drunk on whiskey and the taste of her. 

She buried her face in his chest, squeezing him with all the might in her wiry frame, and it took Sylvain another moment to realize she was crying.

Any thoughts about where and how else he’d like to kiss her immediately stopped, and he cradled her head to his heart, her body to his.

“Shh,” he murmured, gently running soothing fingers through her hair. “I’m here.”

“For how long?” Her fingers clenched in his shirt fabric.

Sylvain buried his nose in her hair. “For as long as you want me.”

Ingrid squeezed him tighter as she cried, doing her best to muffle all sound in his chest. He held her for a while, whispering sweet nothings and drawing lazy circles on her skin, but then, for a brief moment, Sylvain thought she was settling out—her breathing lengthening, her spine straightening.

But then she looked him in the eye, and Sylvain felt his blood run cold.

“Please don’t hate me for this,” she said.

Her eyes were haunted, rimmed in red and echoed in black. She looked more like she’d seen a ghost than she’d just been kissed by a boy she’d known all her life.

Sylvain’s heart was twisting, threatening to come up through his throat. “Why would I hate you?” 

Ingrid glanced down to her hands again. “For not telling you sooner.” She straightened her spine once more, and a shiver ran down Sylvain’s. “So, um, Felix and Annette ran into Miklan the other night.”

For a moment, Sylvain could only stare at her, speechless. But then he turned and vomited right into the rhododendrons.

Strings of bile came up amongst whiskey and half-digested chunks of pizza, and the sight of it was enough to make Sylvain dry heave until there was nothing left to empty. Ingrid awkwardly rubbed his back, not nearly so practiced or smooth as he, but the fact that she hadn’t immediately gone running was a positive note.

Every hitch in his breath was a fresh wave of horror. _Please don’t throw up again. Please don’t throw up again. Dear God, whatever I did, I’m sorry. Please, please, please don’t make me throw up again._

Once he was reasonably confident in his ability to sit upright, Sylvain rocked back to his haunches, breathing as steadily as he could. When had he fallen to his knees? And when had Ingrid folded herself into a pretzel beside him?

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” Ingrid murmured.

Sylvain stared at her in open horror. “How long ago was this?”

Ingrid shut her eyes and thought back. “Two weeks, maybe?”

“Oh.” Sylvain blinked a few times, as if to clear the numbness threatening his heart. “Okay then.”

“Sylvain, look, I know my timing is shit, but don’t do this.”

“You and Felix both have shitty timing,” Sylvain said distantly. “That’s why _I _count us in.”

“Dammit, Sylvain, _look at me!”_

A crueler man would have laughed. Hadn’t he _just_ been trying to get her to do the same? To look at him, talk to him, be open with him? He supposed it was too much to ask for her to love him, but dammit, he wanted that, too.

But Sylvain was not a cruel man, only a deeply melancholy one. So he buried his head in his hands, pushing his bangs out of his eyes and hunching his shoulders to pack as much of his tall frame into one compact ball as he physically could.

This could not be happening. Garreg Mach was supposed to be safe. Miklan was supposed to be locked up for murder and extortion charges for the next ten years. How had he broken loose?

Sylvain supposed he knew the answer; it could only be one of two things. Either one of his mob buddies had gotten him out with their bullshit connections, or his father had quietly paid for Miklan’s early release to spare the family further embarrassment. He already had one son who was a _freelance marketer, _for God’s sake; he didn’t need the other one in prison, even if he were effectively disowned.

He became distantly aware that Ingrid was speaking to him and tugging on his arms, trying to get him to uncurl from his protective prison. He wished she would stop. She’d already broken him once today; wasn’t that enough?

“Sylvain! Sylvain, _I’m sorry. _Felix didn’t want to tell you, but I thought you deserved to know.”

“Like you told him about Dimitri?” Sylvain muttered between his arms.

She stopped pulling at him, and Sylvain couldn’t even find it in him to be grateful that he got what he wanted.

“Maybe I learned something.”

_Alright, alright_. She deserved at least one brown eye looking at her for that. He studied her with it, marking the redness rimming her eyes and covering her cheeks. Was she cold? Embarrassed? Turned on from earlier? Sylvain would never know.

“Why was he in Garreg Mach?” Sylvain got out.

“He was meeting with Arundel, apparently.”

Sylvain felt his guts seize up again, but there was nothing left to vomit. “I never liked Arundel,” he got out.

“Me neither. Apparently, Edelgard was being cagey about knowing anything about it, too.”

Sylvain snorted, burning his nose with bile and wrong-way-up whiskey in the process. “Leave it to Felix to come straight out and ask it.”

“That’s why we love him,” Ingrid pointed out.

Sylvain snorted again, and visibly winced this time. “It is.” Tears pricked at the corners of his eyes, and only some at the pain. His brain was going a hundred miles an hour and he was far beyond the ability to process.

“I don’t want to deal with my dad on Thursday.” It was barely a whisper.

“I know, Sylvain.” Ingrid finally managed to pry his arms free of his legs, and fitted herself neatly between his knees to draw him into the embrace he so desperately craved. “I know.”

Normally, having a pretty girl between his knees was a very different experience. He almost said as much, but even the gutter was failing him, now.

“I’m here,” said Ingrid. “What do you need?”

And for the first time in many years, Sylvain felt himself start to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *banging pots and pans*  
Bring your our angst! I said, bring out your angst!
> 
> Also, today's chapter is half inspired by Pavilion (a long way back) by Coheed and Cambria, and half by the second youtube video that comes up when you type in "moody piano music"


	13. The One Where the Devil Comes To Call

Annette spent most of the next day happily baking in the Fraldarius’ borderline professional kitchen. She made challah bread and pecan bars and was just getting ready to test out their stove with sfingi when she started getting company. 

First had come Felix, taking up one of the stools at the breakfast bar. They chatted amiably as he drank his body weight in coffee, and he even tried a sfingi, fresh out of the oil and rolled in cinnamon sugar. 

Then had come Sylvain, looking hungover as all hell. He barely perked up for coffee and sweets, even when Annette set too much of both in front of him.

Then had come Ingrid, bleary eyed and somber. She thanked Annette for the cookies as she carefully took up the seat beside Felix—a fact not lost on him.

Last came Rodrigue, brought in by the smell of pastries and coffee. He took one bite of sfingi and immediately set about complementing Annette until her ears turned red and Felix told him to shut up. 

And then everyone broke for showers and various other morning routines, and then came all hell. 

Annette was just finishing up the last batch of sfingi and preparing to let the oil cool while she showered when Rodrigue strolled through the kitchen door with the last person she had expected to see. 

“...Dad?”

Gustav—or Gilbert, or whatever he was calling himself now—froze at the sight of her. “Annette?”

They could only stare in mute shock, father and daughter.

“You didn’t mention your guest list, Rodrigue,” Gilbert finally said, a touch accusatory. 

“I most certainly mentioned my son and his friends would be here,” Rodrigue said smoothly. 

In that moment, Annette understood Felix’s relationship with his father perfectly. She wasn’t sure if she loved Rodrigue, or wanted to kill him. 

“I should go,” Gilbert murmured, already turning to leave. 

“Hold on a moment,” Rodrigue said, immediately putting himself between Gilbert and the exit. “You’ve avoided your own daughter for more than a decade, now. The least you can do is sit across from her at Thanksgiving dinner.”

“I don’t think so.” Gilbert was already on the move. 

Only to be stopped by Sylvain’s very large frame in the doorway. His fiery red hair was wet and curling across his neck and forehead, and he looked less hungover, but no less angry. 

“You’ve been avoiding Annette for a _decade?” _Sylvain asked, his voice soft and deadly. 

Something hard like flint sparked in Gilbert's eyes, but it was quickly overtaken by nothingness. _Dead eyes, _Annette thought. _Nothing behind._

“This is none of your business, boy,” he growled. 

“Like hell it is,” Sylvain growled back. “Look at Annette. She’s fucking shaking.”

It was true, although Annette didn’t appreciate being called out. She willed herself to be still, but failed almost as dismally as her father had as a parent. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Sylvain barked. “What kind of father are you?”

“Don’t let Valentín hear you say that,” Rodrigue warned.

Sylvain’s facial expression didn’t change. “What’s he gonna do—disown me?”

“One day, you may understand.” Gilbert then turned to Rodrigue. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it this year, after all, Rodrigue. Please, feel free to still borrow the pots.”

With surprising dexterity, Gilbert pivoted around Sylvain and slipped out the door. 

For a moment, Annette stood in suspended disbelief, her shoulders shaking, eyes ablaze. 

And then she took off running. 

She didn’t immediately see him, but knew her dad couldn’t have gotten far. She poked her head into a few of the side rooms, just in case. One was obviously a dining room, already half-set for tomorrow afternoon; one was a living room, with a huge portrait of Felix and his father hanging over the mantle (neither of them looked thrilled to be in it); and one was, near as Annette could tell, a glorified coat closet. None of them held Gilbert, though, and panic was just starting to set in around the edges of her throat when she half-turned the corner to the foyer, and saw them.

Felix stood, barefoot and black hair dripping down his back, in the dead center of the tiled family crest on the foyer floor. Gilbert was a stone’s throw away, solid and stoic, a single, angry young man standing between him and his exit strategy.

“What are _you _doing here?” Felix asked, with such venom and fury that for the first time in several years, Annette’s voice failed her.

Well, it less ‘failed,’ and more just recognized she didn’t need it.

“Do you think you’re _welcome _here?” Felix continued. If Sylvain’s fury had been soft and deadly, Felix’s billowed indiscriminately, like fire. One step too close, and anyone would burn.

Annette told herself that was why she remained, fixed, halfway hidden in the doorframe.

“I’m sorry,” Gilbert offered quietly. “I’ll go.”

“You’re _sorry?” _Funny, for how often Annette heard Felix say the word ‘fuck,’ _sorry _was the word he made sound filthiest of all. “You’re _sorry?” _

“Yes, I—”

“_Sorry _doesn't bring back dead brothers, absent fathers, and fucked-up friends, you selfish prick. It doesn’t bandage head wounds and it doesn’t make your daughter hate you any less.”

Gilbert winced, as though in physical pain. “She does?”

“Fucking hell, _I _would!” Felix was shaking now, his hands balled into tight fists and amber eyes wild. “But I’m not Annette, then, am I? Maybe she does, and maybe she doesn’t. You’d know if you _fucking asked her.”_

“I can’t do that,” Gilbert said. “Please, Felix, let me…”

_“No.” _

The word rang throughout the dark room like a final power chord.

“Answer me, since you don’t bother to answer her.” Annette felt something twist, deep in her chest, at Felix’s defense of her. “Why the _fuck _did you walk away?”

Felix was not a large man, by anyone’s standards. He was lean and he was wiry, far shorter than Sylvain and only just taller than Ingrid. But in that moment, his presence dwarfed her father’s, until Gilbert was left with only a shell of himself.

“I failed them,” Gilbert said, after a long moment. “I failed Governor Lambert; I failed his son, Dimitri; I failed your brother, Glenn; I failed all of Seiros Security that night.” He drew in a sharp, shuddering breath. “I couldn’t face it anymore.”

“Chickenshit, that was only six years ago.” Felix’s arm rose, as if to lash out. “I’m talking about _before _Duscur. Why’d you leave your wife and daughter?” Felix’s chest rose and fell in short, sharp breaths, and it made the voice teacher in Annette want to chastise him. “Your wife—who had fucking cancer—and your daughter—who was a _child!—_remember them? The ones you walked out on? _That’s _what I want to know about.”

Gilbert hung his head, and Annette found herself creeping forward to hang on his every word. This was pathetic; she was eavesdropping on the boy she maybe-kinda-sorta had a crush on yelling at her Dad, whom she hadn’t seen for years until a few months ago, and she was rooting for…

Well, she didn’t know. An answer, maybe? Maybe Felix would be blunt enough, hard enough, just _enough, _to get one.

“I couldn’t support my family _and_ Governor Lambert’s,” Gilbert said. 

“So you _left?” _Felix screeched, the sound so raw Annette put a hand to her throat.

At that, Gilbert’s facial expression grew hard. “As if a boy could understand.”

“This has fuck all to do with age! You’re a selfish prick who chose himself over his family, and now you're continuing this mopey, self-inflicted exile when, by some miracle, Annette actually wants anything to do with you. You’d rather be the victim than admit you did anything wrong, and you’ll take your shitty relationships to your grave before you’ll work to fix them.”

“You don’t know the _meaning _of the word selfish!” Gilbert was suddenly towering over Felix by a good six inches. Aegis’ guitarist remained undaunted; Sylvain was about the same height, after all, and he yelled at his drummer all the time. “You have no idea the choices one makes in security. I should have _died _that night, alongside the Governor and I will not be accused of—”

“That’s it! Right there! _Selfish_.” Felix barely paused to let that sink in. “If you had died there, then what? What about everyone you would leave behind, and everyone who was waiting for you to come back fucking home?”

Gilbert softened, just a little. “I’m not your brother, Felix.”

“You’re also not Dimitri’s dad; what’s your fucking point?”

“Your language is filthy.” Gilbert sidestepped the question.

Challenge bloomed in Felix’s face. “Happy to make it worse, you spineless fuck. What is. Your fucking. _Point?”_

“I took an oath, Felix,” Gilbert said, somehow more calmly. “On the day he was sworn in, I too, swore that I would protect the Governor and his family, or die trying.”

“What do you think you are, a goddamned knight?”

“And when I _took _that oath,” Gilbert continued, as if Felix hadn’t spoken, “I also took the oath to sacrifice myself. My wants, my needs, even my family, would have to come second to the governor’s.”

Felix blinked a few times, and then said, far more quietly than he had been, “I can’t believe I’m hearing _another _father throw away his own kids for that bastard.”

“Speak of me however you like,” Gilbert said sharply, “but I will _not _tolerate speaking ill of Governor Lambert.”

“I don’t give a shit what you think you’ll tolerate,” Felix fired back. “But lucky for you, I wasn’t talking about Governor Lambert. I was talking about _Dimitri.” _ Realization crossed Felix’s face, and his eyes went wide. “Don’t tell me he stayed with _you _when he wasn’t here.”

Gilbert awkwardly shuffled from one foot to the other.

“Are you… is this… _augh!” _Felix looked like he would have flipped a table, if one had been nearby. “You don’t care enough to reach out to your own goddamn daughter, but as soon as _Dimitri Blaiddyd _needs a parent, you fucking hop to it?”

“His father had _died, _Felix!”

“Yeah, I know. We’ve been talking about that. And now I’m talking about how you were perfectly happy to parent kids who _weren’t _yours, but couldn’t be bothered with your own.” All at once, Felix’s fury died, leaving behind a coldness that turned Annette’s stomach. 

“You and my dad deserve each other,” Felix said, his quiet somehow worse than his bellows. “Get the fuck out of this house.”

“Gladly.” 

Gilbert crossed the family crest and was nearly to the door when Annette cried out, _“Wait!”_

Felix and Gilbert both froze where they stood, and Annette was pinned down by amber eyes she couldn’t always look at, and blue ones that were uncomfortably like her own.

It was Gilbert who found his voice first: “I _am _sorry, Annette.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry,” Annette said. “I want you to get your head out of your ass and stop being _cruel!”_

Gilbert stared at her for a long moment. Annette wondered what he was seeing.

Annette desperately just needed to understand. “You haven’t even given a good reason as to _why?” _

But Gilbert only said, “Good day,” and disappeared out the front door.

Annette stared after him in wretched silence, unable to make herself move. But then Felix was before her and all around her. “You okay?” His voice was rough from shouting, his eyes warring between fury and concern.

Annette couldn’t look at him, could _not _handle him right now.

An arm snaked about her waist, and she heard smooth, soothing commands murmured near her ear. “Come on; come with me. Let’s get you out of the front fucking room.”

And she was so, so grateful that Felix understood.

-)

Later that afternoon, Aegis was roped into helping prepare Thanksgiving dinner. Annette and Ingrid were armed with vegetable peelers and poised over a veritable mound of potatoes, while Sylvain was busy chopping vegetables for various dishes, and Felix was knuckle-deep in stuffing mix that he was currently mixing barehanded into a sort of slurry that he (and Ingrid and Sylvain) assured Annette was delicious. Rodrigue stood over the stove, parbaking and pre-making and anything else that could possibly make tomorrow go more smoothly.

At some point, Felix’s aunt, uncle, and cousins showed up, and Annette was delighted to learn that said cousins were all of five and eight years old. They immediately attacked Ingrid’s legs with cries of “Auntie Ingrid!” and Sylvain slipped them each a pecan bar when their parents were too busy greeting Rodrigue. 

“How is everything coming along?” Felix’s uncle Piers asked.

“We’re getting there,” Rodrigue answered easily. “Having Felix, Sylvain, Ingrid, and Annette has been a huge help.”

Felix doubted that highly.

“It’s lovely to have you here, dear,” Felix’s aunt Amy said to Annette. “Rodrigue has always felt the more, the merrier.”

“Thank you.” Annette was fighting not to blush. She really wasn’t used to being so remarked upon. “It’s very kind of you all to have me.”

“We weren’t just gonna let you be _alone,” _Sylvain said. Felix and Ingrid both nodded vigorously.

Piers laughed, and Annette couldn’t help but note that he had the Fraldarius blue-black hair, too. “So how is school, kids?”

“Felix and me have graduated,” Sylvain offered immediately. “Ingrid is in her last year of pharmacy school.”

Ingrid stabbed at a particularly stubborn potato eye and tried not to imagine it was Sylvain’s head. “Rotations start next semester.”

“You’ll be just fine,” Amy assured her. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone work so hard.”

“That’s because you’ve never met Annette,” Felix piped up, now working the stuffing slurry into a huge casserole dish. “Ingrid still occasionally sleeps.”

“Hey!” Annette called, but her voice cracked and the rest of Aegis cracked up.

The good-natured ribbing continuing for another few minutes, and then Rodrigue directed his brother to which rooms would be theirs. “Do you need help?” Rodrigue asked, wiping his hands on a soggy dish towel.

“I think I got it,” Piers said with a joking wink.

They left the kitchen in peace for a moment, but then footsteps picked back up out in the hall.

“Did you forget something?” Rodrigue called, at the same time a new voice said, “Sorry I‘m late; traffic was awful getting into the city.”

And suddenly Dimitri Blaiddyd stood in the Fraldarius’ kitchen.

It had been a long time since his ex-bandmates had seen him in decent light. He was another head taller and a good foot broader than Sylvain or Ingrid last remembered him, and warning sirens were already screaming in the back of Felix’s mind. Dimitri had pulled half of his shaggy blond hair back into a little ponytail, and the eye patch from Carnage still sat squarely over the one eye.

The other of which was still cloudy blue. _Dead eyes, _Felix couldn't help but think. _Nothing behind. Guess the eye patch was real after all._

“Dimitri, my boy!” Rodrigue snapped the tension whether he meant to or not. He came around the island to pull the blond boy into a massive hug—something not lost on Aegis. “Welcome, welcome! We’re glad you’re safe.”

Rodrigue glanced back to Aegis, only to find none of them looking at him. Sylvain resumed chopping vegetables, the knife just as rhythmic as any drumbeat, and the girls turned back to the potatoes. Felix, who had barely even looked up from his work to begin with, dug back in with fervor.

“I, um.” Dimitri cleared his throat. “Brought rolls. My roommate works in a bakery, and he—”

“We know,” Ingrid interrupted coolly.

Rodrigue’s brow furrowed at her. He had expected Felix to be standoffish, but Ingrid? Sylvain? “Well, I didn’t,” Rodrigue said. “That's lovely.”

“My best friend owns it,” Annette said, making quick work of yet another potato.

“Really?” Now Rodrigue was aware he was shouldering the brunt of this conversation, and he didn’t like it one whit. What was going _on? _“What’s the name?”

Annette glanced to Dimitri, as if daring him to answer. For all his bulk and lack of eye, it was he who ducked his head, embarrassed. “Kindly Devotee,” Annette answered. “She’s super proud of it.”

“As she should be,” Dimitri said, still awkwardly standing just inside the doorframe. “Their food is phenomenal.”

Silence fell again, stiff and awkward, and this time, Felix slammed down the ceramic dish and came right out and said it: “What the fuck are you doing here, Blaiddyd?”

“_Felix!” _Rodrigue shouted. “Is that _any _way to…”

“It’s okay, Rodrigue,” Dimitri interrupted. “I kind of deserve it.”

“_Kind of?” _This time it was Sylvain who slammed down what he was doing, narrowly avoiding stabbing himself through the thumb in the process. “You haven’t said a word to us in over a year, and now you just…” Sylvain gestured hopelessly. “...show up in the Fraldarius’ kitchen like nothing’s happened?”

Ingrid’s hands shook so much, Annette made her set down the peeler. “Ditto on the question,” the blonde girl said.

Dimitri faltered. “I only thought…”

“We don’t _care _what you thought,” Felix snapped. “We want to know—”

“Dammit, Glenn!” shouted Rodrigue. “Let the poor thing speak before you--!”

A horrible, echoing crash rang throughout the kitchen as Felix dropped the ceramic dish full of uncooked stuffing. Broken crockery scattered across the floor near his bare feet, and an hour’s worth of work was now splayed across the immaculate tile. And then everything seemed to move at half time:

Felix was silent, staring at Rodrigue in shock and horror and shaking with rage.

Ingrid had a hand clapped over her mouth, green eyes as wide as they could possibly go. 

Sylvain, finally exhibiting anything other than hungover surliness, was already moving to get the broom and dustpan from the closet.

Annette’s mouth hung open, and she awaited the oncoming explosion bouncing on the balls of her feet. 

Dimitri’s single good eye was flicking from Rodrigue to Felix and back again, unreadable.

The world snapped back into focus.

“Felix,” Rodrigue corrected himself. “Hold it there, let me grab the…”

A crunch told the room Felix had moved. 

Another told them he was walking.

And a third told them he did not intend to let broken, ruined crockery stop him.

He left bright, bloody footprints across the tiled kitchen floor in his wake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Hated You From Hello" by Downplay


	14. The One Where The Dead Speak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's Chapter is brought to you by "Far", by Coheed and Cambria
> 
> Also, happy holidays! this work is my gift to you all
> 
> Also, warning for heavy language this chapter

“He’s gone.”

Annette glanced up from where she sat on her guest bed, a book in her lap. “Hmm?” she asked.

“Felix,” Ingrid elaborated. “He’s gone.”

“He’s _what?” _Annette was immediately on her feet, book forgotten. 

“I can’t find him!” Ingrid said. “I thought maybe he’d be with you, but clearly that’s not right.”

Annette tried not to blush, but failed miserably. “Well, is he with Sylvain?”

“That’s my next stop. Come on!”

The women of Aegis were in the hall in an instant, Ingrid determinedly leading the way. Annette was grateful for the assist; she’d have most definitely gotten lost on her way anywhere but downstairs. 

“Has anyone seen him since Dimitri came in earlier?” Annette asked, trying to think logically through this despite the panic rising in her throat.

“I haven’t,” Ingrid said, “and I take it you haven't?” Annette shook her head. “Damn.”

They arrived at a nondescript wooden door a moment later, and Ingrid gave only the barest hint of hesitation before she banged on the door, shouting, “Sylvain! Open up!

The door cracked open a few moments later. “I mean, I tried that last night, and I...” He cut himself off the moment he saw Annette. “Um?”

Ingrid supposed she should have guessed that Sylvain, of all people, would sleep shirtless, but she was _in no way _prepared for it. She knew he’d kept up working out even after he’d graduated Garreg Mach (and thus, the fencing team), but not like _this. _How did someone so lazy have such well-defined abs?

Ingrid swallowed audibly, and forged on ahead. “Have you seen Felix?” 

Sylvain’s brow deeply furrowed. “Not since he bloodied up the kitchen, why?”

“He’s gone,” said Ingrid, at the same time Annette said, “We can't find him.”

Sylvain’s face immediately snapped from tired to concerned. “Did you check the basement and his room and…?”

“Yes,” Ingrid interrupted. “That’s why I was hoping he was here.”

Sylvain swung his door wide, revealing himself to be alone. “He might, um.” Sylvain winced at the oncoming thought. “He might be with Dimitri.”

“Wouldn’t we hear it?” Ingrid asked, although she was already moving. 

Annette winced. “_What?”_

“Felix couldn’t go two minutes without yelling at him by the end of it,” Sylvain said, pulling on a sweatshirt as he fell into step beside his bandmates. “We’d hear them, probably.”

Annette’s brow only furrowed deeper. “By the end of _what?”_

“Their friendship,” Sylvain said. “Which was, coincidentally, about the end of Aegis with Dimitri, too.”

“Which room is he staying in?” Ingrid interjected. “I don’t want the adults catching wind of this yet.”

“His old room, probably,” Sylvain said. 

“Wait,” said Annette, “did Dimitri live here?”

Sylvain and Ingrid both nodded. “Yeah, after he lost his parents at Duscur,” Ingrid said.

“He lived here through their senior year of high school,” Sylvain added, gesturing to Ingrid, “and breaks, in college.”

Annette thought back to Felix’s earlier shouting match with her father. “I can’t imagine that went well.”

Sylvain laughed hoarsely. “Not even a little bit.”

At the second, nondescript wooden door they came to, Ingrid once again hesitated only slightly before pounding on the door. “Dimitri!”

It took him even longer to answer than Sylvain, and for a moment, Annette wondered if he’d even bother. But then the door swung open to reveal a large, blond man, dressed in sweatpants and a tank top, who had clearly just been roused from sleep. 

“Hello,” he said cautiously. 

Annette’s heart sank. If he’d just been asleep, then… 

“Shit,” said Ingrid. 

Dimitri blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“We’re looking for Felix,” Sylvain elaborated. “You haven’t seen him, have you.” It wasn't a question. 

“Not since the fiasco earlier.” Dimitri had a deep, pleasant voice, Annette was mildly dismayed to realize. He would be so much easier to dislike if he sounded awful. “But there’s all manner of places to hide around here.” He was in the hallway now, shutting his door behind him. “What’s the game plan?”

Sylvain looked to Ingrid, who pulled a face. “Spread out and look for him, I guess,” she said. “Don’t let Rodrigue know he’s gone, or this will be a headache.”

“Wanna meet up in the foyer later?” Dimitri asked. 

Sylvain nodded. “That’ll work. I’ll go with Ingrid if you’ll go with Annette?”

Dimitri nodded solemnly, a spark of life trying to catch behind his eye. 

So that was how Annette found herself casing Felix‘s childhood home alongside his childhood-friend-turned-worst-enemy. It honestly sounded like a bad romance movie set up (“This isn’t what it looks like!” the ‘heroine’ would scream). That, or it sounded like a bad horror movie set up (“Curse your sudden-but-inevitable betrayal!” the heroine would scream).

Just as Annette was deciding which it was, a voice broke into her thoughts: “I suppose I didn’t get the chance to properly introduce myself, earlier. I’m Dimitri Bladdyd. Lovely to meet you.”

She glanced sideways to Aegis’ old frontman, only to find him deathly serious. “I’m Annette Dominic,” she offered. 

“You were impressive at Carnage,” he said, and Annette got the sense he was being sincere. 

“Thanks,” she managed. “I didn’t really get the chance to see Atrocity.”

“That’s alright,” Dimitri said, steering them into a side room. “We’re nothing special. Not like Aegis.”

Said side room held a few comfy couches that faced each other, and a beautiful, baby grand piano near the window. It was glossy in the moonlight, and Annette’s fingers would have itched to play in any other circumstance.

For the room did not, however, hold Felix. 

“Damn,” said Dimitri. “I was hoping he’d be in here. He used to be all the time.”

“Ingrid said she already checked the basement and his room.” Annette was trying very, very hard to stop the rising panic in her throat. “Would he be with his cousins or something?”

“Probably not,” Dimitri said. “They’ve got to be in bed by now. Let’s check the first floor.”

Dimitri led the way to the living room, the half-set dining room, an honest-to-god _study. _But not to Felix. 

As they stood shivering in the chilly foyer, another thought occurred to Annette. “Do you think he’s… _gone, _gone? Like left the house?”

“He's done it before,” Dimitri said after a moment’s thought. 

“_What? _When?”

“During Christmas our Senior year, I think?” Dimitri said. “Maybe Junior year?”

He said it so calmly, so casually. Like a friend would. It rocked Annette’s entire understanding of Aegis and Dimitri. He seemed so… _normal_. How could he possibly be the monster they made him out to be? He seemed like he barely had the heart to swat at flies and spiders.

She’d never get so clean an opportunity to pick his brain again. What could she ask him? How could she understand? Meeting him briefly at Carnage had been horrifying, but up close he was a composed sweetheart, by all accounts. Something wasn’t adding up.

Many somethings, really. And Annette was a researcher at heart.

“How long have you known these guys?” Annette asked. “Felix and Sylvain and Ingrid?”

“All my life,” Dimitri answered. “My dad, Felix’s dad, Sylvain’s mom, and Ingrid‘s dad all went to Garreg Mach together.”

Annette blinked—once, twice, thrice—and the world made even less sense. “Wait, if you’ve all been friends so long, why did you…?” She tried to find words that weren’t accusatory, judgmental, or both.

“Leave Aegis?” Dimitri supplied. At Annette’s sheepish nod, he added, “Because by the end of it, they were afraid of me. And I couldn’t stand watching it in their eyes.”

Annette blinked.

_Afraid?_

Ingrid, Sylvain, _Felix?_

It didn't compute.

And then, dimly, she remembered the story Felix told her backstage at Carnage. _Dimitri snapped. Beat the shit out of the guy. He needed thirteen stitches for his broken jaw. _

But it was hard to picture a boy this nice doing anything of the kind, hugely intimidating or no. Dedue was just like him, that way, and she knew Dedue would never hurt _anyone, _least of all his friends.

“Any luck?” called Sylvain, startling Annette. She nearly fell into Dimitri, who was at the ready to catch her.

“None,” Dimitri called back, “you?”

“Also none,” Sylvain confirmed. “I say we suit up and check outside.”

“Or we could ask Sinclair,” Ingrid pointed out as the butler in question strode past, buttoning his cost. 

The four of them turned on the old man, who paused in the motion of leaving. “May I be of service?” Sinclair asked without blinking.

“Have you seen Felix?” Ingrid asked. 

“We can’t find him anywhere,” Sylvain added.

Sinclair’s brow furrowed. “Has he not returned from the grocery store? I believe that’s where he said he was headed earlier.”

“_How?” _Ingrid blinked—once, twice, thrice—and then added, “I have our car keys.”

Dimitri patted the pocket of his sweatpants. “And I have mine.”

For a moment, Aegis said nothing. 

And then:

“That son of a bitch!” Sylvain thundered. “I bet he fucking walked there.”

“On those _feet!?” Ingrid_ screeched, before clapping her hands to her mouth.

“How far is the nearest grocery store?” Annette asked no one in particular.

“By car?” Sylvain asked. “Like ten minutes.”

“But on those _feet?” _Ingrid said again. 

“Move,” Dimitri said, already striding towards the door.

And Aegis, annoyed, followed. 

-)

The boys’ car was tense as they rode out, Dimitri driving and Sylvain searching and directing. 

“Kinda feels like old times, doesn’t it?” Dimitri asked at the same time Sylvain muttered, “I’m gonna kill him.”

They winced, and then Sylvain said, shortly, “Not really. Usually it was Fe and me looking for_ you.”_

Dimitri coughed. “Well I, uh, suppose it’s overdue, then.”

Sylvain made a noncommittal noise, and then they descended into further silence. 

“Why did you come back?” Sylvain blurted out.

Dimitri glanced over, but Sylvain hadn't turned his head away from the road. His hands were balled into tight fists in his lap, and his demeanor was unusually serious.

“I thought something had changed,” Dimitri said quietly, his one good eye still on the road. “But I’m starting to think that perhaps Rodrigue just didn’t know.”

“He didn’t,” Sylvain said. “Fe doesn’t talk to him much.”

More heavy silence as Sylvain continued to search for his black-haired friend’s lanky silhouette on the side of the road. Visions of horrible accidents and mob-induced muggings danced in his head, and Sylvain physically shook himself as if that would help clear it.

“I shouldn’t have come back,” Dimitri muttered, mostly to himself. 

“Maybe,” Sylvain said. “But that’s not your style.”

Dimitri’s lips pulled into a half smile. “For what it's worth, I missed you.”

“You didn’t have to leave,” Sylvain said, still without looking at him. “We all understood.”

Dimitri shook his head. “I couldn’t be in two places at once. And I know you’re mad--”

“Me?” There was genuine surprise in Sylvain‘s voice. “I’m not mad. Felix is mad. _I’m _hurt.”

“I’m sorry for that, too.”

Sylvain sighed. “Thanks for not stiffing us on the rent, by the way.”

Dimitri looked horrified. “I would _never!”_

More silence descended, cold like a Fhirdiad winter and a hundred times as brittle. 

“Did you know,” Dimitri began, shockingly conversationally, “that three weeks before my parents died, Arundel mysteriously stopped his monthly donation to his church, and instead it went to Out of The Dark?”

“Not sure what that has to do with our trashed friendship, but go off.”

“Doesn’t it strike you as odd?”

“Sure,” said Sylvain, “but again, not what we’re talking about.”

“Something is _deeply _wrong in Fhirdiad,” Dimitri said. “I couldn’t just sit out in Garreg Mach and let it happen.”

“Then why are you back?”

Dimitri had forgotten, Sylvain could be just as piercing as Felix or Ingrid, when it suited him.

“It’s… complicated,” was all the blond man offered.

“Just fucking drive,” Sylvain grunted. “I don’t want to hear it.”

And so Dimitri did.

-)

“He can’t have gotten too far, right?” Ingrid was saying as she steered the van into the deepening cold. “I mean, there isn’t too much around here.”

“I don’t know,” Annette offered truthfully, “but I don’t think Felix would have just _run. _It doesn’t sound like him.”

“Not when he could’ve fought instead,” Ingrid agreed. Her fingers were tense on the steering wheel, her body visibly shaking. “_God, _I’m gonna kill him. Why didn’t he just ask for the damn _keys?”_

Annette had a few ideas, but also knew it wasn’t a real question. 

“He could have just sent Sinclair to get breadcrumbs and chicken broth and whatever the fuck else he thought he needed.” Ingrid was trying to sound angry, and failing. More than anything, she sounded hurt. “He didn’t have to hike to the damn Kroger on those_ feet.”_

Annette reached over and clasped Ingrid’s hand on the steering wheel. “We’ll find him.”

Ingrid gave a little start, and the car gave a subsequent jerk. Annette’s seatbelt yanked painfully on her sternum, and she tugged it back into place a moment later. 

“Sorry,” Ingrid offered. 

Annette offered a weak smile. “You guys don’t really like physical contact, do you?” 

“It’s just startling_,” _Ingrid said. “Felix isn’t exactly touchy-feely, and Sylvain isn’t if you aren't his girlfriend, and my brothers were... _HOLD THE DAMN PHONE!”_

Ingrid slammed on the breaks, and for the second time in so many minutes, Annette’s seatbelt cut agonizingly into her torso. She would have bruises tomorrow; she was sure of it.

“What?” Annette got out.

Ingrid executed a terrifyingly sharp turn into a near-deserted parking lot, missing oncoming traffic by a hair (and a horn). “I forgot this was here,” she said. “I bet Felix has been here this whole fucking time.”

Ingrid hastily parked the car, and once out the door, Annette got a good look at her surroundings. A dingy neon sign over a set of double doors read _Ubert’s_, and the overall look of the building was something of a fifties diner. It also looked like the paint hadn’t been updated in about as long.

“Um,” said Annette, “are you sure?”

Ingrid nodded. “Positive. We hung out here all the time in high school.”

The moment she stepped through the double doors, Annette was struck by sudden warmth and the comforting smell of grease. She could immediately see why Aegis had hung out here--it was comfortingly familiar, with its vinyl booths and old school tile. It looked like the kind of place that served killer milkshakes and still served homemade pie.

“Welcome to Ubert’s--” began the grey-haired boy behind the counter.

“Ashe!” Ingrid interrupted. “Have you seen…” She hadn’t even gotten the words out before the boy was pointing with both hands to a booth in the back corner.

One which head a head of black hair splayed across the tabletop.

Ingrid changed course without even batting an eye, loosing a two-toned howl: “Fe_lix!”_

He raised his head at the sound, and Annette immediately noted red-rimmed eyes and fear in his expression.

_Fear._

It stopped her cold. The most logical explanation was that he was afraid of Ingrid’s ire, since who wouldn’t be? But she couldn't shake the feeling that it had nothing to do with Ingrid. She couldn't shake what Dimitri had told her, and it bounced around in her skull like a single, annoying lyric.

_By the end of it, they were all afraid of me._

“WHAT THE FUCK, FELIX?” Ingrid was hollering, decency be damned. “WE’VE BEEN WORRIED SICK!”

“I just went to the fucking grocery,” Felix murmured, not looking at her.

“THEN WHY DIDN’T YOU TEXT ME BACK, YOU PRICK?!”

“Didn’t feel my phone.”

“ARE YOU A DUMBASS?!” Ingrid was clocking back to throw something, anything—her fist, a saltshaker, her keys, _anything._

But then Annette was there, sliding into the booth to gather Felix into her arms in a very sincere, very awkward, sideways hug. 

“Thank God you’re safe,” Annette said, at less than half Ingrid’s volume. “It’s freezing out there, and your feet have to hurt, and… and…”

“‘M sorry,” Felix murmured, his hands coming up and awkwardly searching for a place to hold onto her. “Don’t cry.”

Ingrid was effectively silenced, her jaw on her collarbone. She had never seen Felix voluntarily hug _anyone, _least of all when he was upset. She was forced to consider that perhaps she’d missed something.

“You should have been back _hours _ago,” Annette managed to get out. “Sylvain was worried something _happened _to you.”

Ingrid snapped back to life. “I’ll, um, go call him,” she said, and headed back outside.

Leaving Felix and Annette effectively alone in this deserted diner.

“What were you thinking?” Annette asked, pulling away just enough to look at him and rub at her eyes.

“‘We’re out of the shit to make stuffing,’” Felix offered sheepishly. He wanted to reach out to her, to hold her face in his hands and brush away her tears. But he stayed his hand, as something deep and dark had clenched around his insides.

And then Annette leveled him in the gentlest exasperated look he’d ever received.

He slammed his head back down onto the formica. He couldn't deal with that look, not from her. Just as the darkness settled in his stomach was threatening to make him vomit, Felix got out, “I couldn’t make myself go back.”

Annette gently tugged at his head, trying to get him to look up. But when Felix refused to move, she settled for tugging his hair band all the way out. “Your hair is falling out,” she told him as she began to work her fingers through all of his knots and tangles. “I’ll fix it for you.”

Felix shivered at her touch. Why was Annette so _gentle? _And with _him?_ “Don’t worry about it. It always is.”

In the silence that followed, Annette began to hum. She usually did, when she was focused on something, and sometimes she sang, too. Those little ditties were Felix’s favorites, particular because they made little sense and her lyrics were adorably _awful. _For how lovely a singer she was, she couldn't write lyrics for shit, and she readily admitted to it. Felix loved it; loved her for it.

And that scared him.

“Don’t make me go back.” He tried to bat at her hands, but he either missed or she avoided him entirely.

“I won’t,” Annette promised, continuing to work through the knots in his hair. “But I think you’re brave and you’re strong and you can absolutely look Dimitri in the eye.” She giggled through her tears, and Felix was, quite frankly, amazed. “Pun not intended.”

The snort he gave was absolutely disgusting. “I…” Felix faltered, trying to make her understand. “I don’t want to deal with them, Annie. _Any _of them. I don’t want to deal with Ingrid and Sylvain dancing around each other, and I don’t want to deal with my dad telling me what I should be, and I don’t want to deal with Sylvain’s shitty dad or Ingrid’s older brothers or Glenn’s photos staring at me, and I _doubly_ don’t want to deal with sitting across from the fucking boar like we’re in high school again and nothing is _different.”_

His voice cracked on the last word, and it was the only thing that gave away that Felix had resumed angry-crying.

He hated that he did it. He just wanted to be angry, dammit! Everyone else managed it just fine. Just _once_, he wanted to be able to scream at someone without breaking into pathetic tears that ruined everything, to let them know they’d fucked up in all possible ways without crying like a Goddamn child.

Just _once _he wanted to light up someone without faltering.

“I _don’t." _His voice cracked again, damn it all.

Both of Annette’s hands were in his hair now, working through the tangles and pressing surprisingly strong fingers into the knots of muscle below. It had to feel absolutely disgusting, since Felix was pretty sure he hadn’t showered in several days, but Annette didn’t seem to mind. Despite himself, Felix felt himself sinking into her touch and chasing her warmth.

“I wish I had something helpful to tell you,” Annette said quietly. “I wish things weren’t so hard, and that you didn’t have to deal with so many of them. I wish I could tell your dad off, since I owe you one.”

Felix snorted again. “No, you don’t; Gilbert fucking deserved that.”

“Dimitri, then?”

“I tried,” Felix said. “He wouldn’t listen.”

Something sank in the pit of Annette’s stomach. “And have you tried talking to your dad?”

“Same hat.”

“No wonder you don’t want to go home.” Annette had begun absentmindedly weaving Felix’s hair into braids. It was so long and fine; it settled easily into plaits, more so than Annette’s unruly hair ever would. She absentmindedly scratched at his scalp, wishing she had something more helpful to say.

Her heart nearly stopped when Felix gave a little, appreciative noise. 

“You get it,” he said.

_Get what? _Annette almost asked, her brain somewhere far off in the aether, where they weren’t in public and Felix was making that noise for completely different reasons. She needed to pull herself together before she said something stupid—or worse, _did _something stupid.

Annette moved to take her hands back, but this time, when Felix reached up, it was to stop her. He pinned her beneath one keen, amber eye. “Don’t stop?”

Her heart was pounding as she threaded her fingers back into his hair, his hair tie long forgotten on the table beside him. For a moment, Annette focused on finding _just _the right places to scratch and press her thumbs into. Had she not known him any better, Annette would say Felix was practically purring.

And then it occurred to her that they were in the middle of a (blessedly empty) diner on the night before Thanksgiving.

“How are your feet doing?” Annette asked hurriedly.

Felix shrugged, although the motion got caught on the table. Annette stopped her ministrations, and Felix gave an involuntary little whine. He then turned red to the tips of his ears, or so Annette could see.

“Felix,” she said, mock-sternly.

“I’m fine,” he said, and when Annette remained suspended, he added, “I got all the glass out and put some Neosporin on it.”

She began dragging her short nails across his scalp again, and Felix was only half convinced he hadn’t died. It just felt so _good._ “Please take better care of yourself,” Annette said softly.

He didn’t have the heart to tell her that Ingrid had been telling him the same thing for years, and he didn't have a comeback for that, either. 

Across the room, the bell on the door chimed, bringing in the biting wind and one puffy-eyed bassist.

Annette put her head near Felix’s to ask, “Are you okay?” 

“No,” said Felix, but he sat up anyway.

Annette offered him his hair tie, and Felix was wrangling his half-untangled, half-braided hair into a bun when Ingrid approached their table. “Let’s get you home, Fe,” she said, far more quietly than she’d first been.

Annette slid out of the booth first, but Felix right behind her. He winced as he set weight on his feet again, but he didn't say a word. But his eyes were as red as Ingrid’s, and for a moment, they could both only stare.

“If it means anything,” Ingrid finally said, “I don’t really want Dimitri here, either.”

“We can sic your brothers on him?” Felix suggested, and Ingrid snorted so hard, she had to find a loose napkin.

-)

It was late—far too late—and everyone in the Fraldarius’ house should have been asleep. And that was exactly why Felix had taken to the kitchen at this time of night. He could work in peace to replace the crock of stuffing he’d dropped earlier, stick it in the fridge before dawn, and no one would be the wiser. He could cook by the moonlight streaming in through the huge bay windows in blessed silence, and not have to talk to—

“I made sure you weren't holding anything this time,” came a voice from the door.

—anyone. 

Felix, once again up to his wrists in uncooked stuffing gunk, froze at the sound of his old lead singer’s voice. It was just so damn _familiar. _Painfully, even. Like a wound that hadn’t quite healed right, or the memory of an older brother he would never quite forget.

“Fuck off,” said Felix.

Dimitri held his hands up as if placating a wounded beast. “Easy, there. I just wanted to talk to you a minute.”

Felix forced himself to look back down at his work. “I don’t want to talk to you.”

“I know you don’t. It’ll only take a moment.”

Silence stretched between them.

“Please?” Dimitri tried.

The silence grew thunderhead dark. In it, Felix continued to work through the stuffing mix, his body visibly shaking in the gloom. He would not look up, wouldn’t give Dimitri the satisfaction.

“Alright,” Dimitri said after another moment. “alright.” He sighed. “I know you saw Miklan the other day and I—”

“Shut up,” Felix hissed.

Somehow, by some borderline magical force, Dimitri did.

“Felix?” Dimitri tried.

“I’m not talking to you,” Felix barked, “least of all about that. Now fuck _off.”_

Damn this fucking voice straight to hell!

Dimitri knew him too well—or at least, he used to—not to press his advantage, what with a voice crack like _that_. “Would you talk to me for Glenn?”

Angry tears pricked the edges of Felix’s vision. “Probably,” he admitted, “but you’re _not _him. So just—”

“I can make it right,” Dimitri hurriedly interrupted. “But I need you to help me, with anything you know about Miklan.”

“Duscur was a freak accident,” Felix got out. “There’s nothing to make right.”

“Yes, there is,” Dimitri insisted. “Something is deeply wrong in Fhirdiad…”

“If you’re there, I’d believe it,” Felix interrupted.

Dimitri made a face, but continued as if Felix hadn’t spoken. “...and I intend to get to the bottom of it. I just need—”

“Do you _hear _yourself?” Felix had to stop himself from shouting. “You sound like a conspiracy theorist.”

Dimitri gave a hoarse laugh. “I suppose I am. But haven’t you wondered—why Black Iron Spurs, why that night? How did they know the governor would be there? Duscur isn’t in Fhirdiad. How did the gunman get in? Why was Glenn’s funeral closed-casket?”

_“Because he had a bullet shot through his brain, you sick fuck!” _Felix was gripping the edge of the granite counter to keep himself from launching across it and sinking his fist into Dimitri’s last good eye. “_Of course, _I’ve wondered why it had to be Glenn. Why someone decided to shoot up Duscur that particular night, why your dad just so happened to be there and why I wasn’t, and I’ll carry that for the rest of my life. But I’m telling you, _it doesn’t matter._”

“Yes, it does,” Dimitri said fiercely. “We owe the dead their answers.”

“They’re dead,” Felix spat. “We owe them _nothing.”_

Dimitri could only stare, flabbergasted. “I know you care about him still,” he said after a long moment.

“He’s my fucking brother; what’s your point?”

“Help me lay him to rest.” Dimitri had moved around the counter, over to where Felix stood. “Please?”

“I will _cut _you,” Felix threatened, dirty hands scrabbling around for a knife.

Dimitri stopped, hands up again. “Felix, I just need you to tell me what you know about Miklan, and then I swear I’ll leave you alone.”

Felix flicked a glance towards where the kitchen knives lay out of reach, and then to Dimitri’s face. He didn’t _seem _like he was lying. And, Felix supposed, Dimitri had never been a very good liar.

“He’s got a huge scar down his face now,” Felix finally said, drawing the scar in question across his own face. “Has probably twenty-K in jewelry on person, was wearing a douchey white suit when I saw him. Same hair as Sylvain, still. And he was getting dinner with Arundel at the sushi place we all…” He cut himself off.

“Volkhard von Arundel?” Dimitri pressed.

Felix nodded. 

Dimitri shut his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and then sighed. “Thanks. That’s helpful.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not being sarcastic,” Dimitri said earnestly. “Any information is better than none.” He turned to go, but paused a few steps away from the counter. “Oh, and um, Felix? Thanks.”

“Fuck off,” said Felix, turning back to the stuffing.

Dimitri’s footsteps quietly led themselves away.


	15. The One Where Aegis Doesn't Communicate (With Each Other)

Early in the morning—far earlier than he would have preferred—Felix stood at his brother’s grave.

“Hey,” Felix said, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. _Glenn’s jacket pockets_, he couldn’t help but think. He always felt supremely stupid doing this, but afterwards, somehow better. 

He dropped to a crouch, and then pulled a hand from his pocket, revealing a small offering. He set one of his guitar picks on the base of the gravestone, beneath the word “brother.” The bright spot of blue was barely visible in the early-morning gloom.

“Dad called me your name, again,” Felix said, straightening up. “Thought you’d want to know.”

He supposed Glenn would say something like, _Hell, that sucks. But you know how Dad is. He’d forget his own face if it weren’t attached to him._

“He’ll probably be by after dinner, later,” Felix said. “I don’t know.”

The wind howled. It sort of sounded like an Atrocity song.

Felix shut his eyes, and it all came tumbling out: “I really wish you were here.”

Felix had tried, time after time, to put into words what the hole Glenn left behind felt like. He had tried lyrics that adored him, lyrics that despised him, proper requiems, and anything but. But no matter how he tried to orchestrate it, nothing seemed to fit into that void. 

He was starting to wonder if anything ever would.

“Nothing’s ever been the same.” Felix tried not to sound like a petulant child; It wasn’t like it was Glenn’s fault that he died, after all. “The house is so quiet, and so was Ingrid, for a long time. Sylvain could have used a damn talking-to more than once, but there wasn’t anyone to give it.

“Dad tried to tell me that you died like a hero, but…” Felix shuddered at the memory. “...I think that’s more fucked up than anything else he’s ever said. I don’t care that you _died _like a hero; you _were _my hero.”

Little, crybaby Felix had wanted nothing more than to be just like his big brother. And now, grown up, emotionally-stunted Felix hated being compared to him more than anything else on this Earth. Time sure was a funny thing.

“And now you’re gone.”

Soft rain began to fall, dotting the granite with little, dark pinpricks and getting in Felix’s eyes.

“I’ve been taking good care of your guitar,” said the little brother. “The pickups are starting to give out, though. Hope you won’t mind if I replace them soon.”

But the older brother remained silent.

“Sleep well, I guess.” Felix wasn’t sure what else to say.

He left, then. The rain was getting into his eyes.

-)

Midmorning light shone on the gravestones when Sylvain arrived.

“Hiya, Glenn!” he said cheerfully, as if the dead could hear. “Brought something for you.”

Sylvain noted that a blue guitar pick was sitting on the lip of the grave, and made a mental note not to bother Felix too much later. He dropped to a crouch and laid a cinnamon roll on the grass in front of the headstone, wiping his sticky fingers on the wet grass for a moment before he straightened up.

“Your aunt made them,” Sylvain said. “I remember you used to really like those, and Felix always gave you his when she wasn’t looking.”

It was strange. Although Sylvain knew that he literally had as much a right as anyone to pay respects that chilly Thanksgiving morning, he never felt like he was really supposed to be grieving someone else’s older brother, even if he was a friend.

“Your dad called Felix your name, last night,” Sylvain said, feeling sort of stupid but pushing through anyway. “Fe got so mad that he dropped a whole casserole dish of stuffing. Glass shattered everywhere, and then he walked through it, like a dumbass.”

Sylvain sighed. “I kept wondering, if you were there, would he have still hurt himself like that? Probably not, but…”

Sylvain wasn’t really sure what to say. He knew what he came here for, but it just felt so… irreverent. Like dancing on Glenn’s grave.

“Ingrid’s doing a lot better,” Sylvain offered. “She doesn’t lock herself in her room so much anymore, and she’s playing bass again. She stopped wearing your ring on her finger, and it’s on a necklace, now.” Sylvain winced. “I guess that might be kind of insensitive, huh?”

The smell of freshly cut grass and soft rain was overbearingly sweet. Sylvain felt like a blight on the landscape, cemetery or not.

“She’s gonna graduate in the spring, and then cure cancer or something with her PharmD. We both know she can.”

Sylvain realized he’d been smiling, and it fell, softly, like the morning rain.

“I like to think that this probably wouldn't have happened if you were still here, but…” Sylvain drew in a deep, bracing breath. “...I love her. And I don’t know whether to say sorry or that I’ll take good care of her or what.”

Glenn himself probably would have clocked him, for that. But the Ghost of Glenn was someone different.

“I always wished I got you for a big brother instead of Miklan,” Sylvain blurted out. “You listened to Fe and taught him fencing and how to play guitar and never told him he was stupid or shut his fingers in a door or threw him down a well or came into his room at night, and...” Sylvain had to cut himself off, abruptly, or he’d never stop. “You never did any of the shit Miklan did, and I was so, _so _glad for Fe.”

Sylvain drew in another breath to steady himself.

“You were one of the best, Glenn. At everything. And I miss you all the time. No one knows how to handle Felix like you did—but I think Annette is learning.” It occurred to him that Glenn wouldn't know. “Oh, she’s our new singer. She’s really cute and really nice and Felix _realllly _likes her.”

He could still imagine the Cheshire grin that would curl across Glenn’s face at _that _news. _Oh? Little Fe has a crush? _He would say. _I’m gonna need you to start over from the beginning there, little Gautier._

Glenn was the only person who could call him Little Gautier without a shred of insult, irony, or insolence. Like it was okay to carry that family name, and Sylvain could make it mean whatever he wanted it to mean. Like it was just left over from meeting Miklan first, and not a reflection on Sylvain in any other way.

“I guess you’ve missed a lot, huh?” Sylvain said, shoving his hands in his pockets.

The rain from this morning looked like it was moving in, again. Soon the cinnamon roll would be nothing but wet mush. He hoped Glenn would understand.

“Even if you can’t forgive me for it,” Sylvain said quietly, “I hope you won’t resent Ingrid for continuing to live.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips, and he patted the headstone like he would a friend’s shoulder.

“Rest in peace, bud.”

-) 

The late afternoon sun was just beginning to wane when Ingrid and Annette arrived at Glenn’s grave.

“Hi, Glenn,” Ingrid said, a little breathlessly. _Why _did his plot have to be so far up the damn cemetery hill? (Privately, Ingrid admitted that _maybe_ this would have been easier if she’d eaten a little less at Thanksgiving dinner, but that was quitter talk.) “This is Annette. She wanted to meet you and I, um, didn’t want to come alone.”

“Hi! I’m Annette!” the singer said brightly. “I heard this morning that you really liked your aunt’s cinnamon rolls, so I brought you some of the pecan bars I made.”

Annette stooped and set the paper plate of sweets next to a wet blob of what looked like it used to be a pastry, and just below what appeared to be a guitar pick.

She turned to Ingrid once she straightened up, and her bassist looked uncharacteristically shy. “Do you want a minute?” Annette asked softly. “I can go stand over there?” She jerked her thumb in no particular direction.

“I asked you to be here,” Ingrid pointed out.

Annette smiled—“It’s okay. I’ll be just over there if you need me.”—and wandered over to a particularly interesting-looking headstone that was just out of earshot.

Ingrid drew in a deep breath, and turned back to the cold, unforgiving headstone. “Um, hi, Glenn.” 

She felt herself drawn to the engagement ring she wore on a necklace, running her fingers over its intricate loops and whorls. Glenn had always had good taste.

“My brothers also say hi,” she added, somewhat lamely. 

Why was this so _hard?_

“I miss you,” Ingrid blurted out. “All the time. Felix has your guitar and your jacket, and I have your ring, and Sylvain has some old photos of you, but it isn’t the _same.”_

She sounded like a petulant child, but dammit, how else was she supposed to sound?

“It really aches.” Her voice was growing thick, her vision blurred. “Like all my old fencing injuries in the winter. You should _be _here, y’know? I should be sitting next to you at Thanksgiving dinner while your dad tells bad jokes, and Sylvain’s dad and my dad laugh and everyone else groans, and then we should be able to snuggle on the couch afterwards while I watch football and you take a nap and Felix tells us to get a room. Dammit, you should _be_ here!”

Her voice broke, and so did the dam holding back tears.

“It’s so hard, being at the manor without you,” she managed. “But the world still moves, y’know? Your cousins still grow up; my band still plays; I still take classes and breathe and go for runs but it’s just not the _same._

“Would we be married, by now? Would you have wanted to wait until I graduated? Would your dad have cried at the ceremony? Would _my _dad?” Ingrid supposed it didn’t exactly matter; she was crying enough for both of them. “I’ll never know, and you’ll never say.”

Ingrid drew in a deep, shuddering breath as the same, soft rain from this morning began to fall again.

“I’ve been thinking of cutting my hair.” Ingrid toyed absentmindedly with the tail of her braid. “I know you always liked it long, but, well, it’s getting really annoying.”

Never mind that he wasn’t here to see it, now.

“I think Felix is, too.” She knew that the younger brother kept his hair so long because the older always had, despite the fact that Felix kept it firmly tied away from his face ninety percent of the time.

“He looks so much like you, now,” Ingrid added, much more quietly. “He has your hair, and your jacket, and your guitar. Sometimes, if I’m not paying attention, I swear he _is _you, out of the corner of my eye. 

“But I know that’s not fair to Fe. And he’ll never have your eyes.”

Glenn’s eyes had been a brilliant, sparkling green. Quick to light up with anger or joy, and more expressive than the rest of his face, combined. They were nothing like the sharp, amber ones that Felix had inherited from their mom.

Ingrid swallowed past the hard lump in her throat. She was avoiding the point, and she knew it. 

“I kissed Sylvain, the other day,” she confessed all in a rush. “And I don’t know whether to say I’m sorry to you or to him.”

Glenn was her first love, one so rudely ripped way. He was clever and kind and always knew just what to say. He had held her through all sorts of woes, and never once told her she was too much, or not enough.

But Sylvain had been her friend for just as long, plus her drummer and constant headache. She was always cleaning up his messes, literally or figuratively, going on damage control and chasing away ex-girlfriends. She supposed there had been fewer of those lately, but he went through dry spells sometimes. He was also a slob, and very much full of himself.

But he was also sweet, and kind, and thoughtful, and very much, very achingly _here_. She could reach out and touch him—warm, solid, _real. _There was no headstone associated with Sylvain Jose Gautier_._

“Annette!” Ingrid called out, feeling helpless.

She appeared in an instant, concern in her soft, blue eyes. “Ingrid?”

Ingrid folded her arms across her torso, as if to cave in on herself. When it didn’t work, she had to practically force out, “Am I a terrible person?”

“Of course not!” Annette said at once. “You’re smart and you’re kind and you don’t put up with Felix or Sylvain’s shit. Why would you think so?”

She hadn’t told anyone about what happened in the garden, except for Glenn, now. But it was even harder to form the words a second time, to admit them to a living, breathing person: “Because I kissed Sylvain the other day.”

Annette, to her credit, took it in stride. “Did you want to?”

Ingrid sighed, unable to look anywhere but her boots. “Yeah, kinda.”

“Then that’s good!”

“But what about Glenn?” Ingrid’s eyes shut tight. 

“If he was half the man you, Felix, and Sylvain say he was,” Annette said, “then I think he’d understand. You’re still here, Ingrid. You don’t deserve to be miserable for that.”

Ingrid have a little snort, and opened her eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” Annette said with a reassuring smile. “And if Sylvain makes you happy, then this is good.”

Was it… really that simple? 

“It can’t be that simple,” Ingrid said.

Annette laughed, just a little. “Sure, it can. Sylvain is good to you and makes you happy. We can all see it.”

Ingrid glanced to the headstone beside them. “You don’t… think he’s mad?”

“I think,” Annette began gently, “that he’s probably relieved that his friend is looking out for you, now.”

Annette didn’t know Glenn, Ingrid wanted to point out. But maybe that was kind of the point.

She glanced to Annette again, glad she’d thought to ask her along. “What do you think I should do?” 

Annette paused to consider it a moment. “The way I see it, you have two choices. Stay static, like you are. Or move. I just vote for whatever option makes you happier.”

Ingrid stared at her for a moment, and then wrapped her up in the biggest bear hug she could muster. Annette gave a startled “Oof!” but squeezed back just as tight.

“I appreciate you,” Ingrid said once she let go.

Annette beamed. “And I appreciate you!”

Both women turned to the headstone, then. Ingrid felt like a huge weight had been lifted from her chest, and Annette felt understanding creep into the edges of her mind.

“Your little brother will be okay, Glenn,” Annette told him. “And so will Ingrid. So rest easy, okay? If you’re worried someone needs to look out for them, then I’m your girl.”

Ingrid landed a half-hearted punch on Annette’s upper arm, but said nothing contradictory.

-) 

By true night, the soft rain had kicked up to a howling storm. Most everyone was tucked away in their homes, watching movies, taking naps, putting up Christmas trees, being together, and being family.

And that was why Dimitri Blaiddyd stood out in the pouring rain over Glenn Fraldarius’ grave.

“Hello, Glenn,” he said, not quite under his breath, not quite over the rain. “It’s good to see you.”

He dropped to a crouch, all six-feet-two-inches of him, and laid a set of worn drumsticks on the grave beside a guitar pick and two ruined piles of food. When he straightened back up, his face was somber.

“I wanted to let you know that I haven’t forgotten,” Dimitri said. “I remember that night, at Duscur. It’s burned into my brain like someone took a brand to it.”

He shut his eyes, but that only made it worse. He could smell the blood, the viscera, the _fear. _His heart was pounding as hard as it ever had, and his entire Thanksgiving dinner threatened to jump right back up his throat.

He swallowed, hard.

“I know something is terribly, deeply wrong in Fhirdiad,” Dimitri continued slowly. “I can feel it in my bones, but nobody believes me except my stepsister. I know you would’ve, though. You’d be able to tell it was rotten to the core; you always could.”

The rain was pelting him, now, but Dimitri did not move. He’d been through so much worse.

“I swear to you here, I will bring them to justice. I won’t let them get away with what they’ve done to you, or my Dad, or Felix, or Ingrid.” Dimitri paused, and then sighed. “Even if they don’t want to talk to me, now.”

_What the hell? _Glenn would say. He was just as foul-mouthed as Felix had ever been—although, logically, it was probably the other way around. _How’d that happen?_

“Never mind that,” Dimitri said. “I might have gotten kicked out of the Police Academy for looking into this, but I’m not finished.”

Dimitri took out the small pocketknife he always carried, and after a moment of fumbling and finagling, sliced upon his thumb without so much as a wince.

“I won’t rest until my work is done.” He pressed his bloodied thumb over Glenn’s name, wincing on contact with the cold stone. “I’ll see to that.”

“Out of The Dark...” Dimitri murmured. “I’ll see them in hell.”

He left Glenn’s grave, then, shouldering his coat against the pouring rain.

_Glenn Alcott Fraldarius_

_Son, Brother, Fiancé, Friend._

_Stand up as one, We’ve nothing to hide /_

_Into the night, together we ride._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> eh, had some time this morning. Merry Christmas Eve!
> 
> also, I know I'm behind on responding to comments, but I swear I'm working on it!
> 
> also, if you like my work, [come hang out on twitter!](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)


	16. The One Where Ingrid Gets a Haircut

Once Aegis returned to Garreg Mach, time seemed to tumble end-over-end until it was snowballing towards Christmas. Before long, they were halfway through the month and Felix had yet to buy a single present for _anyone_. It was giving him anxiety, but so was the thought of actually _going_ Christmas shopping. And Amazon was only so helpful, especially when it came to Annette.

Annette, _Annette_, what in the hell was he going to find for Annette?

And so when Ingrid had approached him and asked him to run an errand with her, Felix had immediately said sure. He unfortunately made the mistake of not asking what it was, and thus had no idea what he’d agreed to until they arrived at one of those box-style haircut places.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Ingrid said as she settled into the hairstylist’s chair. 

“Sure,” said Felix, trying not to sound annoyed. “Not like I had anything better to do.”

“Hold up,” said the hairstylist. “There is no room in this house for shitty boyfriends.”

“Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,” Ingrid said at once. “He’s… um…”

The hairstylist looked at her expectantly. 

“I would have been her brother-in-law,” Felix mumbled, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets. 

“I see,” said the hairstylist, somewhat more gently than she’d spoken before. She also, mercifully, didn’t press. “So what can I do for you today?”

Ingrid drew in a deep breath and studied herself in the mirror. “I want you to chop it off.”

Understanding glittered behind the woman’s eyes. “Were you thinking of donating?”

“If I can,” Ingrid said. 

“Honey,” said the hairstylist, catching hold of Ingrid’s braid, “I’m sure you’ll have _plenty.”_

The hairstylist did short, easy work, and by the time Felix had even looked up from Reddit the first time, Ingrid had changed. Gone was the heavy braid she’d had for most of their lives, and in its place was a far shorter, shoulder-length cut. The hairstylist had smoothed out her harsh bangs, and it was longer in the front than in the back.

Ingrid was toying with the ends. “Well?” she asked Felix, impatiently. 

He studied her for a long moment. “Suits you better, honestly.”

Ingrid shifted in her seat, and the hairstylist gave Felix a sharp look. “But do I look okay?” Ingrid pressed. 

Felix sighed. _Girls. _“Duh.”

The hairstylist looked ready to pounce, but Ingrid burst into laughter, and so she stilled. “I know better than to ask if I look pretty,” Ingrid lamented between giggles.

Felix rolled his eyes. “One, short of plastic surgery I don’t know how’d you manage not to. Two, ask Sylvain; he’ll tell you.”

Ingrid turned red to the tips of her ears. “Fe_lix!”_

This time, the hairstylist laughed, too. “Knock ‘em dead, girl!”

Somehow, Ingrid managed to turn _redder. _“Okay, Felix, your turn!” she squeaked, hopping out of the chair as if it had burned her.

All the mirth drained from Felix’s face. “Hey, I only agreed to come with you.”

“You’ve been thinking about it, too,” Ingrid said, embarrassment giving way to her classic prodding.

“Come on now, brother-in-law,” said the hairstylist, brushing some of Ingrid’s hair off the seat and then patting it. 

Felix’s hand went up to his bun, as if to protect it, even as he froze in place. “_No.”_

“Fe,” Ingrid said gently, “don’t you think it’s time?”

Felix could only stare accusingly.

“It’s a well-known fact amongst women,” the hairstylist began, “that a girl looking to change her life must first change her hair.”

“True,” Ingrid said.

“I’m sure it applies to boys, too,” the hairstylist added with a small, encouraging smile.

“My life is fine,” Felix said stubbornly, but even as he said it, the words tasted false on his tongue.

“It could be good.”

It wasn’t Ingrid who said it, but the hairstylist, and somehow, that made it even worse.

“We can get better together,” Ingrid said, reaching out and giving Felix’s shoulder a small squeeze.

He startled so hard he knocked over the magazine stack on the table beside the waiting chair.

“At least trim the ends?” Ingrid said. “I can see how dead they are from here.”

Dead ends. Okay. He could do that.

“Fine,” Felix muttered, and hauled himself into the chair.

“Down it goes,” the hairstylist said, patting his man-bun. “Do you want to do it yourself, or…?”

Felix cut her off when he yanked the hair tie out.

His feather-fine, blue-black hair tumbled down over his shoulders. It was dented where the hair tie had been sitting, and hadn’t been washed in a few days, but in the brief glimpse Felix caught of himself in the mirror, the wind was knocked out of him.

_God, _he looked so much like Glenn.

“You know what,” Felix said, “hack it off.”

The hairstylist smiled. “Did you want to donate it?”

Felix blanched at the thought of how short that would make it. Ingrid’s new hair was short enough, and had been far longer than his when she’d first sat in this chair. “Um,” he said, “only if I can still put it in a ponytail.”

The hairstylist looked to him again with a critical eye. “Probably not, then. That’s too bad; it’s a lovely color.”

Ingrid busied herself with picking up the magazines while the hairstylist set to washing Felix’s hair. She was crisp and businesslike, but Felix’s mind still wandered to what it had felt like to have Annette’s slender fingers combing through his hair. 

His stomach flip-flopped, and Felix felt like he might be sick.

“I never told you about Sylvain,” Ingrid told Felix quietly.

“I know,” Felix said as the scissors began to _snip, snip _through his hair. “He did.”

“Oh my _God.” _Ingrid buried her face in her hands. 

Felix laughed. “Don’t worry; he knows not to tell me details.” The laughter died on his face as he continued. “He was mostly just confused.”

For a long moment, the only sound in the little room was the _snip, snip _of the hairstylist’s scissors.

“That makes two of us,” Ingrid finally said. They were rapidly veering into territory Felix was woefully unequipped to navigate, and they both knew it.

“Do you think he’d be mad?” Ingrid asked anyway.

“Who, Sylvain?” 

_Snip, snip _went the scissors.

“No.” Ingrid was staring at her hands. “Glenn.”

Felix shut his eyes and drew in a long, steadying breath. “If he were here, yeah. Duh.”

_Snip, snip, _and Ingrid said nothing. 

“But that’s the point, isn’t it?” Felix struggled not to turn and look at her. “He isn’t here.”

_Snip, snip. _

Silence.

_Snip, snip._

Silence.

God, why was Ingrid making _him _do all the talking?

“It’s been six years, Ingrid. A lot’s different.”

“Don’t tell her how to grieve.” Felix and Ingrid both startled; they’d sort of forgotten the hairstylist was here.

“I’m not,” Felix said after a moment. “I’m just telling her it’s fine if she isn’t who she was then.”

It finally occurred to Felix that he didn’t have to turn his head to look at Ingrid; he could see her in the mirror. Steeling himself, Felix glanced up. 

And for the first time in six years, wasn’t immediately struck by how much he looked like his dead brother.

The hairstylist was only half done, but the half she’d finished lay somewhere between his chin and his shoulders. Glenn had never kept his hair so short, preferring the traditional Metalhead haircut (or so he’d always said), and their father’s hair was far wavier than Felix’s would ever be. And so Felix was, for perhaps the first time, looking at someone wholly separate.

Himself, maybe.

“Oh, I like that,” Ingrid said. “Your hair, I mean.”

Something about her voice was wrong. Felix looked to her in the mirror, and saw that she was crying (and trying to hide it). He struggled to find something to say, but was very well aware he’d probably make it worse for trying.

It was about then that Felix’s phone buzzed, and then, belatedly, so did Ingrid’s. The group chat, then. “What’s Sylvain want?” he asked.

“Actually, it’s Annette,” Ingrid said, and Felix’s heart gave the same little stutter-stop it would have if he’d actually seen her name lighting up his phone. “She… oh! The choir concert she’s conducting is tonight and Mercie can’t make it, so she’s wondering if we want to go.” Ingrid was thumbing a reply before Felix could even open his mouth. “Of… course… we’ll… come!”

“Ingrid!” Felix howled. He wasn’t even used to looking at himself like this; how could he face _Annette?_

“Felix… wants… to know… why… you didn’t… tell us… sooner?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth, you awful woman!”

“Dammit, I’m helping!”

“You are _not_ helping!”

Their nascent argument was cut off when the hairstylist abruptly started laughing. She had to put down the scissors for a moment, and despite being annoyed, Felix felt a surge of gratitude for that.

“Honey,” the hairstylist said, patting Felix’s shoulder, “you were a looker before. A few inches of hair aren’t going to change that.”

Felix felt his face burn in embarrassment. “That isn’t…”

“Oh, yes it is,” the hairstylist interrupted. “I’ve seen enough relationship drama in this room to know what I’m dealing with.”

“Concert starts at… ah! Six! Felix, we need to go as soon as you’re done.”

_Great_. He didn’t even have time to change or compose himself or come up with a good enough excuse to lock himself in his room.

“What do we owe you?” Felix asked the hairstylist in an effort to distract himself.

_Snip, snip. _“It’s on the house.”

“What!” Ingrid spluttered. “No, we have to pay you!”

The hairstylist smiled. “Merry Christmas, kids. Sounds like you’ve got enough to deal with.”

Felix harrumphed. “Then I’m going to drop a twenty over there, and you’re not going to notice until we’re already gone.”

The hairstylist laughed again, and continued snipping off more and more of Felix and Ingrid’s past. He watched it pool soundlessly by his feet.

-)

Between getting over to Garreg Mach High School and finding parking, Ingrid and Felix arrived at the concert with maybe five minutes to spare.

“Yoooo! Ingrid, Felix!” Sylvain waved at them from halfway up the high school’s bleachers the moment he laid eyes on them. Two more figures—one with a high, purple ponytail, and one with an electric blue undercut—also waved. “Look who I found!”

Ingrid grinned, but Felix groaned. “Hi guys!” Ingrid called back, waving up to them. “C’mon, Felix!” She tugged at his arm and Felix reluctantly allowed himself to be pulled along.

It wasn’t until they got closer that Sylvain noticed their haircuts. He looked physically stunned for a moment, and then gave a joking wolf-whistle. He elbowed Caspar and Petra, announcing, “Aren’t my friends so pretty?”

“I am not pretty,” Felix grumped, settling onto the bleachers below Sylvain and half of Aymr.

“Sure, you are!” Caspar joked. “The prettiest little swordsman on the whole fencing team.”

“Fuck off, Bergliez.”

“Ingrid, you are being very red.” Petra sounded genuinely concerned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Ingrid said, but it came out strained.

Sylvain flashed her his winningest smile, and Ingrid had to quickly look away and change the subject. “So, Petra, Caspar, why are you guys here?”

Petra beamed. “We are supporting Hubert!” 

Caspar nodded enthusiastically. “He’s here conducting. I assume you’re here for Annette?”

“You know it!” Sylvain said.

“Wait a minute,” Felix said, “if it’s Hubert you’re here for, then where the hell is Edelgard?” Hubert was practically her shadow, after all.

Petra sobered, just a little. “She was called back home, I heard.”

“Her dad ain’t in the best of health, y’know,” Caspar added.

“No, I didn’t,” Ingrid said, grateful to have something else to focus on. “Has he been sick?”

“He had a stroke a few years ago,” Caspar said. “Was never quite the same since.”

“It is quite sad,” Petra said. “It would not be surprising if Edelgard moves home more permanently soon.”

“Family business, and all that,” Caspar added at the questioning looks he was getting from Aegis. “But I’m sure you know all about that, Felix.”

“And again—fuck off, Bergliez.”

Caspar’s cackle bounced off the opposite wall.

“Ladies and gentlemen!” came a voice from the gymnasium proper. “If you would all please take your seats, we may begin.”

The crowd quieted, and Felix and Ingrid turned back around. Sylvian slid between them a moment later and threw an arm around them both. Felix immediately (and aggressively) shook him off, and grumpily went up a bleacher flight to sit next to Caspar, but Ingrid froze like a startled deer, undecided as to whether to shake him off or let him stay.

Sylvain leaned over and murmured near her ear, “Just so y’know, you’re _way_ prettier than Felix.”

Ingrid turned furiously red and buried her face in her hands.

“Thank you all for being here, tonight.” It was the voice from before, coming from a woman dressed not-exactly-appropriately to be conducting a high school choir. “Our students have worked very hard this semester, and are excited to show off what they’ve learned.”

Sylvain leaned back and tapped Petra’s knee. “Hey,” he half-whispered, “isn’t she from Garreg Mach?”

Petra nodded. “That is Professor Manuela, yes.” She, too, was terrible at whispering. Felix cringed for them both.

Caspar then opened his mouth, only to receive an elbow in the ribs from Felix. If Petra had trouble staying quiet, Lord only knew how loud Caspar would be. “What’s she doing here?” Felix hissed.

“She also teaches at the high school,” Petra said.

“Before we begin, I would also like to thank my lovely grad students, Annette Dominic and Hubert Von Vestra, for all of their help this semester,” Professor Manuela continued. “If they would please stand up?”

Somewhere down on the first row of bleachers, Annette and Hubert both got to their feet. Annette waved brightly to the crowd, radiant and cheerful, while Hubert looked more like he’d rather be anywhere than here. The sight of Annette in her classy-yet-festive Christmas dress, excited and in her element, stole the very breath from Felix’s lungs—to the point that he wasn’t prepared for the one-two punch of jealousy immediately afterwards. As if he had anything to worry about from _Hubert, _of all people. The boy was already whipped as they came, and Edelgard barely seemed to notice.

“I’ve never had finer pupils,” Professor Manuela said with a smile, as she bade them both to sit down. “And now, I would like to introduce the freshman choral ensemble!”

The concert proceeded exactly as one would expect of a high school _anything_. The various choirs shuffled on and off a set of risers built on the gym floor just for the occasion, while proud parents snapped photos and bored siblings played on their phones. Some of the choirs were even good, which Felix honestly found to be a relief. There was nothing worse than a shitty concert, in his semiprofessional opinion.

At one point, Hubert took Manuela’s place at the music stand. He rolled up the sleeves of his smart black sweater, and, foregoing the conductor’s baton Manuela had been using all evening, raised his hands to the level of his eyes. 

“One, two, three, _four.”_

The senior choir broke into the familiar, haunting harmonies of _O Come, O Come Emmanuel. _Felix wondered, briefly, if Hubert had gotten to pick what he conducted. It seemed his style, although Felix had never particularly seen him as a religious man.

The choir’s vowels were perfectly rounded, their breathing succinct. Despite the song’s adagio tempo, Hubert conducted with the kind of fire Felix had only ever seen from him when he was onstage with Aymr. For a moment, Felix could almost picture him gearing up to cast some sort of spell, with those hard, focused movements. But then he blinked, and it was gone.

Caspar and Petra applauded loudest of all when the song ended. Manuela bade Hubert into an embarrassed bow before he disappeared behind the piano again to accompany the next few pieces.

And then Annette came up to bat.

She, too, eschewed Manuela’s baton for favor of simply using her hands. Annette stood at the music stand relaxed and elegant; the exact _opposite _of how she commanded the stage for Aegis. Felix would have found himself staring for that fact alone, although he would be loath to admit it aloud. But that _dress_—wine red and curve-hugging and made of something slightly shimmery—was really what he couldn’t tear his eyes away from.

(And although he’d never know it, Mercedes was both congratulating herself at work about finding it, and cackling about the fuse she’d just lit.)

Annette began conducting a very prim and proper version of _Hark! The Herald Angels Sing, _with as much concentrated fire as Hubert had. She spread her hands like wings, and beneath them, the music soared. It was all very nice, Felix couldn’t help but think, quiet and traditional.

And then Annette drew a sustained note out of the choir like a mage preparing to cast some huge, elemental spell, and released it into a jazzy, upbeat version of the song. 

And then she was conducting double-time, a huge smile on her face as she drew solos and jazzy chords out of her students. The music eddied and flowed in graceful time with her hands, drawing quiet as they drew in close, and bombastic as she flung her hands out. 

She bowed to thunderous applause, and from Aegis most of all.

“She’s fantastic,” Felix heard a parent beside them say, and he felt his chest swell with pride.

“That’s our Annie!” Sylvain said to the dad with a huge grin.

Felix’s good mood soured, and a nasty twinge of something dark and awful blew out his chest. He shoved the feeling away and tried to focus on what Professor Manuela was saying.

“...a very special tradition, here at Garreg Mach High School. We always close our Christmas concert with the Hallelujah Chorus, and I would like to invite anyone who has ever performed it, here or otherwise, to join the choir on the risers.”

Ever the attention-seeker, Sylvain instantly turned to Felix and Ingrid with bouncing eyebrows. Felix firmly shook his head, but Ingrid wavered for just long enough for Sylvain to haul her to her feet 

“Come on, Fe!” Sylvain shouted back to him, already halfway down the stairs with Ingrid in tow.

Felix glanced to Caspar and Petra, who both only shook their heads.

“I can’t sing for shit,” Caspar said with a laugh. “You know that.”

“You are losing your band!” Petra gave Felix a friendly shove to his feet.

And so he very grumpily headed down the stairs, snatching up a copy of the sheet music from Manuela as he went to join Sylvain in the basses. The redhead happily made room for him, nudging high schoolers this way and that. In classic Sylvain fashion, the girls in the alto section in front of the basses were staring at him.

Wait, no. One in particular was staring at _Felix._

“I’m so glad you guys came!” Annette called breathlessly, waving at him from her spot and wearing a smile to blot out the sun.

Felix felt his entire chest cave in. How was she so damned _pretty?_

“‘Course we did,” Felix mumbled. “Also, Sylvain, I got us sheet music since I know you didn’t.”

“You’re the best, Fe!” Sylvain said, clapping him on the shoulder so hard Felix nearly stumbled off the risers. “Hey Annie, doesn’t Fe look nice?”

Annette quirked her head in confusion, to the point that Felix was able to watch the realization hit her. “Oh, um.” She turned redder than her hair. “It looks really good, Felix!”

Felix felt his own face light on fire. “I hate you,” he mumbled in Sylvain’s direction.

“No, you don’t,” Sylvain said, squaring his shoulders and facing forward just as Manuela tapped the music stand with her conductor’s baton. “Not yet.”

Manuela counted them in, and, after a short, precision-perfect piano intro from Hubert, the choir broke into the first _Hallelujah _with gusto.

-)

Somewhere deep in the city of Enbarr, Dimitri Blaiddyd stalked the streets.

The cold had set in hours ago, and a lesser man would have already given up. But Dimitri was of only one mind, and even less sense, and so here he remained. Edelgard had said his targets would be around here somewhere; he only needed to _find _them.

It was a stroke of dumb luck that she’d been called home, pun not intended. Her father’s health was taking a turn for the worse, and although the von Hresvelgs were decent enough folk to simply come home for that alone, there was always the family business to consider.

“I’ve never really considered what would happen if my father passed,” Edelgard had told him on the drive up. “I’m so out of practice with all of it.”

“You’ll be fine,” Dimitri assured her. “It’s in your blood.”

She had smirked—a small, amused thing—but didn’t take her eyes off the road. “It’s more like a mask, but it’s kind of you to say so.”

And so, somewhere across the city, Edelgard was standing at her father’s sickbed while he drilled into her everything she would need in the coming years, and Dimitri was casing the streets, looking for two people in particular. His pistol thumped against his ribs with every step, and the cold had begun to set into even his bones.

Dimitri would have been disappointed with himself, a trueborn son of Fhirdiad’s freezing winters, if he hadn’t been outside for hours already. Despite all else they said about him, he was still, at least marginally, human.

He ducked into a coffee shop and ordered a truly disgusting amount of black coffee. The baristas eyed him nervously as he loomed, awaiting his order with a handful of other souls.

As was his habit, Dimitri picked out the fastest routes to the exits, and then turned his eye to the crowd. A mother and small child, neither of whom matched the description of his targets. A tired college student, likely from the University of Enbarr, hunched over a laptop and stack of books. A broad-set, brown-haired man who looked distantly distracted.

_Wait._

They called his name, and Dimitri was forced to retrieve his drink. He took it to the side bar, as if to add cream and sugar, and surveyed the room in his peripherals. The man moved to retrieve his drink, as well, and then strode through the side door without lingering, but it was too late.

Dimitri had scented his prey.

He strode through that same side door a moment later, and found his mark a moment later. The man was heading back into downtown, and Dimitri, his heartbeat singing in his ears, followed.

It didn’t take long for the man to realize he was being followed, but then, Dimitri hadn’t expected it to. The man kicked up his pace, and then made a sharp turn into an alley. Dimitri shifted his coffee into his left hand, so that his right was free to draw his pistol should it come to that, and turned the corner.

He came face to face with the barrel of a loaded pistol.

“The fuck is your problem?” the man hissed.

Dimitri blinked. “Beg pardon? My _problem?”_

“Wait.” The man was shaking; the gun wobbling. “Holy shit, you’re…” 

Dimitri’s eyebrows lifted. Waiting.

“...King,” the man finished, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Mm-hmm,” Dimitri agreed amiably, and then dropped to a crouch and flung his still-scorching coffee directly onto the man’s crotch.

As he’d predicted, the man howled and dropped his gun. Dimitri used his new, lower leverage to ram his shoulder directly into the man’s solar plexus, and pin him to the wall. 

“Easy, now,” Dimitri said. “Just need to ask you a few things, and then you’re welcome to get to the ER.”

“Fuck you!” the man spluttered, flailing and scratching at any area of Dimitri’s person he could reach.

Dimitri adjusted his shoulder, and then reached up to pin the man to the wall by his throat. “_Easy_, now,” he growled, pressing just enough on the man’s throat to get his attention.

The man stilled, eyes wide and breathing heavily.

“There, now,” Dimitri said. “That wasn’t so hard.”

“Fuck you,” the man spat again. 

Dimitri resisted the urge to roll his eye. “Look, this doesn’t have to be any more painful that it already has been.”

“I’ll die before I tell you_ shit.”_

Pain exploded behind the man’s eye as Dimitri landed a direct hit with his ringed fist. a bruise had barely begun to form before Dimitri was pressing his thumb into it.

“Your sister,” Dimitri began, “what’s her name… Fleche? I don’t suppose she knows anything?”

The man stopped groaning in pain to stare, horrified, at the one-eyed monster before him. “Empress _wouldn't.”_

Dimitri pressed his thumb into the man’s newfound bruise once more before stepping forward to loom directly over the man. “Do I look like Empress?”

Another moment’s pressing on the black eye.

“Alright, alright, alright, _alright!” _The man was spluttering, groaning; the scent of cooled coffee, distasteful. 

Dimitri relaxed only his thumb. “How long has Out of the Dark been operating in Enbarr?”

“Years,” the man spluttered. “Since before what they did to Empress and the rest of the family, easy.”

“And _you?” _Dimitri said. “How long have you been a traitor?”

“They got me when my parents died,” the man said.

“I need _dates, _man, _times.”_

“Ten years ago?”

“And Garreg Mach? How long have they slithered there?”

“I don’t know… ah!” Dimitri was pressing into the black eye again. “Stop, stop, _please! _I don’t know why they’re at the university!”

“Pity,” Dimitri hissed, pressing harder. “Last question. Who sold out the Von Hresvelgs?”

Tears were leaking from the man’s black eye, now. “Von Vestra!”

_Edelgard won’t like _that_ news, _Dimitri couldn’t help but think.

“Pity,” Dimitri said again, and removed himself from the man’s person.

He smashed a fist into the side of the man’s head a moment later, and he collapsed onto the dirty concrete. Dimitri took a moment to scoop up the pistol that the man had dropped, and fitted it somewhat awkwardly into his shoulder holster. He then drew in a deep breath, rolled his shoulders, and then turned around to exit the alley.

“Officer!” he called when he spotted one about halfway down the block. “Excuse me, officer!”

“What seems to be the problem?” the policeman asked.

“There’s a man passed out in the alley back there,” Dimitri said, gesturing to it. “He ran into me and my coffee spilled, and I don’t know if he passed out or…?”

“We’ll take a look at it, son,” the officer said. 

“Thank you!” Dimitri said as the policeman took off.

_That ought to keep him occupied. _His target had had a warrant out for his arrest, after all. Dimitri shoved his hands in his pockets and strode down the rest of the block, whistling Handel’s _Hallelujah Chorus _as he went.

-)

“Well, Annie,” Sylvain said as they all milled about after the concert, “where do you want to go celebrate?”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” Annette said, although her rumbling stomach gave her away.

“Celebratory pizza?” Sylvain suggested. “Celebratory beer and wings? Celebratory sushi?”

“He’s not going to let up until you pick one,” Ingrid told her.

“Oh, um.” Annette was turning red again. “I guess celebratory pizza?”

“Perfect!” Sylvain said. “Oi, Petra, Caspar, you guys want to come? Oh, and you too, Hubert!”

“Sure!” called Petra, but her bandmates exchanged a look like _why is she like this._

Hubert looked like he’d swallowed something distasteful. “I suppose we could meet you somewhere.”

Sylvain whooped and said something else, but it was lost to Hubert in the midst of his phone ringing. He took one look at the Caller ID and excused himself, heading out of the gym and into one of the deserted hallways.

“Everything alright out there?” Hubert asked in lieu of greeting.

“Something like that,” Dimitri said from the other end of the line. “Listen, Hubert, I’m going to need to get into your father’s house.”

Although his stomach sank, Hubert was not surprised. “I’ll text you the garage door code, assuming he hasn’t changed it recently. If he has, there’s usually a key under the mat.”

“Capital.”

There was a short pause.

“He’s gone,” Dimitri said. “Edelgard’s father, I mean.”

Hubert’s stomach sank even further.

“I suppose I’ll be back for the funeral, then.”

He couldn’t hear it, but he knew Dimitri was probably nodding. “Edelgard’s going to need you now more than ever.”

Hubert snorted. “As if I’ve ever let her down.”

There was another, more pregnant silence.

“You’re probably not going to like what I find at your dad’s house,” Dimitri warned him.

“I never have,” Hubert replied dryly. “No need to worry.”

Dimitri gave an abrupt laugh. “Keep doing what you can, back home.”

“I always do,” said Hubert, and the line clicked dead.

“Hubert?” called a feminine voice.

He turned to discover that Annette Dominic had followed him out into the hall. How much had she heard? Was he going to have to silence her? He didn’t particularly want to. He supposed he’d grown somewhat friendly with the clumsy singer over the past several semesters, but moreover, she was the easiest way to keep track of Aegis for Dimitri.

“Is everything okay?” she asked. “You left all in a hurry.”

Hubert could have laughed. She’d given him the perfect opening.

“That was Edelgard,” he lied smoothly. “Her father passed away, just now.”

Annette’s blue eyes widened almost comically. She was so open with everything; he’d thought her simple for it, at first. Like Caspar. “Oh, my God! That’s awful.”

Thing was, Hubert had learned, she wasn’t simple. She was unflinchingly honest. Almost dangerously so.

“Is she okay?” Annette barreled on. “Do you need to go? I can cover for you with your bandmates.”

For the second time this evening, Hubert let out a surprised laugh. “No, that won’t be necessary.” He could handle Petra and Caspar—and moreover, he could assess what Aegis knew about the various marks Edelgard and her step-brother were chasing, chief among them Miklan Gautier. “Have you all decided where we’re going?”

“Hubert,” Annette said gently, reaching out and giving his hand a squeeze, “it’s okay if you feel like you should be in Enbarr. Sylvain won’t do much more than pout about it.”

Hubert froze. He wasn’t exactly used to being touched, friendly or otherwise, and had no idea how to process it. “I was planning to leave for Enbarr in the morning, anyway,” he managed. Why did he feel the need to explain himself? He was going soft. “Kindly just… don’t make a fuss about it.”

“Okay.” Annette gave his hand another squeeze, and then let go. “We’re going to Maddog’s Pizza.”

“Sounds good. I’ll meet you all there.”

He could do no less for Edelgard, after all, than to be her eyes and ears when she was far from his side.


	17. The One Where The Golden Deer Throws A Party

"So,” Sylvain said as Aegis gathered around their favorite table at the Golden Deer, “how long do you guys think it’ll be until Claude starts making us all plug into the House Sound this year?”

Felix grunted. “It took less than an hour last year.”

“Wait,” piped up Annette, “they do this every year?” 

“Every year Claude’s owned it, yeah,” Sylvain assured her. 

“How does he have the _energy?” _Ingrid muttered, mostly to her cocktail.

“I don’t think that’s the problem,” Annette said.

And true, this year’s ugly sweater Christmas party was already in full swing. Aegis, the Watchers, half of Aymr, and Thyrsus were all here, plus the regulars and whoever else Claude managed to scrounge up. Hilda was slinging drinks like nobody’s business, and they all had silly, festive names like “peppermint hangover” and “Three Wise Men” and “Three Wise_r_ Women.”

The problem, at least for Aegis, was the guest list.

“Who invited Atrocity?” Felix had asked the moment Dimitri walked through the door with the Eisner twins.

Hilda had given him an apologetic look as she handed him his beer. “It’s not exactly an exclusive party,” she said.

Felix had harrumphed, told her to keep the change, and then slunk back to Aegis’ table. “Just ignore them,” Ingrid had told him, even as Sylvain switched seats with him so that Sylvain was the one with his back to the room and Felix could keep an eye on the beast.

So far, so quiet. Dimitri had left them alone, taking over a corner table near the door with the Eisner Twins. They mostly kept to themselves, which was fine by Felix. He felt a sort of gleeful, cosmic kismet that nobody else was stopping to talk to them, either. Even Ferdinand from the Watchers was keeping his distance, and he chatted with everyone.

Including Aegis.

“My dear friends, it has been too long!”

“Hi, Ferdinand,” Aegis chorused, with varying levels of energy.

“How are the Watchers doing?” Ingrid asked, unflinchingly polite.

“We are fantastic!” Ferdinand made an emphatic motion with his beer that nearly sent it sloshing down Sylvain. “We’re getting ready to put out a new album in the new year! Will you be?” 

“Ooo,” said Sylvain, turning to his bandmates with a critical eye, “ooo, ooo, _oooo_.”

“I don’t speak idiot,” Felix told him.

“Yes, you do,” Sylvain said, “we’ve been friends for twenty years. But what I’m saying is, _we _should do a new album.”

“It’s about time,” Ingrid agreed, “plus we have Annette now.”

“I’ve never recorded anything,” Annette admitted. “Sounds like fun!”

“What will you—?” Ferdinand began, only to have his name called from across the bar by a furious Lorenz Gloucester. He winced, and turned back to Aegis. “I’m so sorry. He’s still miffed about Carnage.”

“Not our fault he got mono,” Felix said bluntly.

Ingrid hit him.

“And I am _still _wondering how,” Ferdinand muttered, and departed.

“A new album has to have _Dead Eyes _on it,” Sylvain said immediately. “Maybe _Valkyrie _and _Siegfried, _too.”

“That’s not nearly enough songs,” Ingrid pointed out.

“I’m working on it!” Felix said.

“It needs _Together We Ride,” _Annette said, and for a moment, Aegis’ table grew quiet.

Then:

“Oh, _hell _yes_,” _said Felix.

They chatted for a while about a possible new album, bouncing ideas off one another and drinking thoughtlessly until they were all deep in their cups.

“Are you all packed for tomorrow, Felix?” Ingrid asked him at one point.

To which he had snorted, and said, “I’m just going to my dad’s for a few days.”

In his tipsy state, he missed how Annette deflated at the news. “What about you and Sylvain, Ingrid?” she asked.

“I’m going home tomorrow, as well,” Ingrid said. “My brothers wanted me home this weekend, but I told them I wasn’t missing this party for anything.”

“I’m driving home Christmas Eve,” Sylvain said. “So, y’know, I’ll be around a few more days if you want a buddy.” He winked at her, and earned himself a sharp look from both Ingrid and Felix.

Annette’s chest constricted painfully at the news. “Mercedes is going home with Dedue tomorrow, too.”

Sylvain’s facial expression lost some of its mirth. “We’ll get lunch for sure,” he said. “Maybe do some last-minute Christmas shopping.”

The vice around her chest released, just a little. “I’d like that,” Annette said, and buried her nose in her drink again.

Sylvain shot Felix an unreadable look across the table, to which the guitarist shook his head almost imperceptibly. Sylvain upped an eyebrow and Felix scowled at him. Ingrid laughed at their silent exchange, and Annette looked up again.

“Did I miss something?” she asked.

“Our boys are stupid and need another drink,” Ingrid said, giving the both of them a friendly shove.

“Right you are, Ingrid my dear!” Sylvain said. For once, he ignored her blush, his focus on Felix. “C’mon, grumpy cat.”

“Stop comparing me to that thing,” Felix said, getting up because his beer was empty and _for no other reason, _dammit.

The moment Sylvain determined they were out of earshot of the girls, he asked, “Haven’t you given Annette her Christmas present yet?”

“Not yet,” Felix muttered, turning red to the tips of his ears. It was burning a hole in his jacket pocket and he kept touching it to reassure himself it was there.

“Bro,” said Sylvain, leaning against the bar top, cool as you please, “you’re kind of running out of time.”

“I _know,” _said Felix irritably. “There just... hasn’t been a good time.”

That wasn’t exactly true. There had been plenty of time over the last week or so. Lulls at band practice when she had gone upstairs to grab a drink, or when everyone had been sitting around a high top at Maddog’s Pizza after her choir concert and slowly but surely everyone had emptied out and the only ones left were him and her. He could have given it to her then (or at least told her about it), but he didn’t. And so here he was, leaving the next day to fuck off to Fhirdiad for Christmas and he was running out of time.

“You’re kind of an idiot,” Sylvain said, but there was no malice in it.

“Shut up,” said Felix, and there was supposed to be.

Sylvain laughed anyway. “You just need a lil’ shove, don’t you?”

Felix’s eyes shot wide. “Sylvain, _no.”_

“Sylvain, _yes!_ Hey, Hilda!” Having finally caught her attention, the pink-haired bartender sashayed over to where they leaned against the bar. “Can I get a Four Horsemen?”

Hilda laughed. “I’m not legally allowed to sell those.”

Sylvain sighed. “Alright, fine. I’ll take a shot of Cuervo, Felix here will take a shot of Jameo, and we’ll find friends for the other two.” 

Hilda nodded, and bustled off to gather shot glasses and the Four Horsemen. Sylvain, meanwhile, turned to the room and cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting, “Oi! Who wants to take the other two horsemen?” before Felix could even think to stop him.

“I suppose I can manage one,” said a smooth voice.

One Hubert Von Vestra had appeared at the bar, Edelgard at his elbow, and dressed in a black sweater that simply read ‘Bah Humbug.’ Felix was mildly annoyed he hadn’t thought of that, but he supposed his sweater _did _have dragons on it.

“Which do you want?” Hilda asked. “We’ve still got Jack and Jim left.”

“I’ll take the bourbon,” Hubert said, leaning against the bar beside Felix.

As usual, Sylvain’s mouth was working faster than his brain. “I’m surprised you guys are here.”

“It was too hard to be home, without…” Edelgard drew in a deep breath, and neither Felix nor Sylvain missed how Hubert squeezed her arm in the pause. “...without, y’know, anyone home.”

Silence fell over them for a moment, and then Felix said, “I get that.”

Edelgard tried to smile, but it was small, and didn’t reach her eyes. “I would say ‘I can imagine,’ but…” she trailed off again.

“Do you want the last one?” Sylvain asked her quietly.

Edelgard shook her head. The bells on her sweater jingled at the movement. “No, I’m not drinking tonight.”

“I get that, too,” Felix said again, even quieter.

Edelgard studied him for a moment, as though seeing him through clear glass instead of her fog of pain. “What did you do?” she asked, so quietly he almost missed it amidst the rowdy bar. “After your brother died?”

Felix felt, more so than saw, Sylvain stiffen beside him. He supposed it was always a tossup when someone asked that question, but usually it was from nosy assholes who needed to mind their own business. Not friends who were in pain.

Not friends whose eyes were going dead like Dimitri’s.

“Wrote a lot,” Felix said, “smoked a lot, fenced some, tried not to be home ever, and slept on Sylvain’s floor a lot of nights.” Cried so much he was fairly certain he didn’t have tears left anymore, but he wasn’t going to tell Edelgard that.

Edelgard was looking at him like his word was gospel, but Hubert merely sniffed, and said, “I never took you for a stoner, Felix.”

“I’m not.” Felix shoved his hands in his pockets, half to give them something to do, and half to make sure Annette’s present was still there. (It was.) “I used to go through a pack of cigarettes a day. Point is, Edelgard—whatever helps you sleep at night, do that. And don’t let the shitheads tell you how to grieve.”

Suddenly, abruptly, Edelgard burst into laughter. Hubert looked genuinely concerned, but she paid him no mind, propping herself up on the bar while laughter racked her frame.

“I’m getting that _tattooed,” _she managed to get out between spurts of laughter. “Holy shit.”

“Is the fourth one taken?” came a flat, new voice.

Byleth—or was it Beresu?—Eisner was standing just outside the crush of people on the dance floor, staring at them with those huge, unnerving blue eyes.

“Nope,” said Sylvain, “all yours.”

Felix had never actually met one of the Eisner Twins in person. He’d had classes with their father, Professor Jeralt, in college, and he’d talked a fair amount about his kids. So in a manner, it felt like he already knew her. Especially since she played guitar in Dimitri's band.

Felix knew _exactly_ the kind of person she was, for that.

“Thanks,” she said, her voice still flat. She stepped up to the bar, and Hilda set the last of the horsemen in front of her. The bartender then looked expectantly at them.

“Put it on my tab, Hilda dear,” Sylvain said with a wink.

She rolled her eyes, and went to go punch it into the computer.

“No,” said Byleth suddenly. “Put it on mine.”

Hilda glanced between them for a moment, and then shrugged and departed. 

“Welp,” said Sylvain, raising his shot glass to eye level. Hubert, Felix, and Byleth raised their glasses, as well. “To Papa von Hresvelg!”

“To Papa von Hresvelg,” Felix muttered, throwing his head back and draining his shot in one go.

It burned down his throat in the smooth, curious way of good whiskey, and then went right to his head. Felix supposed he might be just a wee bit out of practice, or a wee bit drunker than he’d thought. The jury was out.

Edelgard’s violet eyes glittered curiously around the edges. “Where are you guys sitting?” she asked, valiantly ignoring the thickness in her voice. “I want to ask Ingrid how she gets her hair to do that braid thing.”

The light was flickering in those eyes—in and out, in and out—and Felix’s gut wrenched. The Jameson threatened to come right back up, and the room lurched. He missed Sylvain’s answer, and it barely registered when they all turned to go.

_No, no!_

“Hubert,” Felix barked, grabbing a hold of man’s arm before it was too late.

“Hmm?” Hubert half-turned back to face him, eyebrows furrowed. 

Felix glanced across the floor, making sure Sylvain and Edelgard were out of earshot, before he said, emphatically, “_Don’t_ let her eyes go dead.”

Hubert’s brow furrowed deeper. “Beg pardon?”

“You know, dead eyes.” Felix waved his hand in front of his face a few times and didn’t blink. “Nothing behind.”

For a moment, Hubert only stared at him, confused. And then, like watching the tumblers in a lock fall into place, Felix saw it click. “That song is about Dimitri, isn’t it?”

“Who else would it be?” Something else occurred to Felix. “Wait, have you hung out recently?”

“He was at the funeral,” was all Hubert offered.

Felix chewed that one over a moment. “I guess they’re all the family they have, anymore.”

Something dangerous flashed in Hubert’s green eyes. “She has me,” he said sharply.

Felix was no Sylvain, but he wasn't stupid. “Maybe tell her that?”

“Fancy that,” Hubert said, shooting a pointed glance across the room to Aegis’ table.

Felix’s eyes narrowed. Hilda sat a replacement beer on the bar by his elbow and he barely even noticed. “You wanna try that one again, vampire boy?”

A smile crept across Hubert’s face, the kind that was sinister and irritating and made Felix itch to punch it. “Fancy telling a girl that you care.”

“Ingrid knows she’s my sister whether she likes it or not.”

“Valiant effort, but we both know that isn’t whom I mean.”

A staring contest ensued between Aegis’ guitarist and Aymr’s keyboardist, and for a brief moment, Hilda set about looking for her brass knuckles, just in case.

And then, abruptly, Felix burst into hoarse laughter. “Fucking shit. Is Hubert von _fucking _Vestra trying to give me relationship advice?”

Hubert himself laughed, at that. “I think that shot’s already gotten to me. Shall we do another?”

Felix held up two fingers in Hilda’s general direction.

She poured them their Horseman shots again, and this time, it was Felix who raised his glass to the level of his eyes first. 

“To absent friends,” he said.

“To Edelgard.” After an almost imperceptible moment, Hubert added, “And Annette.”

Felix damn near choked on his drink.

“Alright, alright!” Felix was not going to be ousted by _Hubert, _of all people. “Jesus H. Christ, leave me alone.”

Hubert was still laughing as they rejoined Aegis’ table a moment later. Ingrid was in the middle of braiding Edelgard’s hair so that it curled around her ears, Princess Leia-style. It wasn’t exactly the short, elegant way Ingrid kept her hair off her face, but, Felix supposed, she was drunk and it was cute watching her go full Big Sister.

Fuck, _he_ was drunk.

“Heeyyy,” Sylvain slurred as they approached, “you’re missing the action.”

“What _action?” _Ingrid harrumphed around a mouthful of bobby pins. “I’m braiding her hair!”

“He’s just trying to get a rise out of you, Ingrid.” Annette was starting to talk in cursive too, and Felix knew from experience that he needed to get her to switch to water or she was never going to remember any of this.

He wasn’t sure he could stomach that.

Edelgard put her hands over the sides of her head. “But do you think he’ll like it?”

Ingrid swatted Edelgard’s hands away—“We don’t change our hair for boys, got me? We change it for ourselves.”—just as Hubert asked, “I suppose it depends whom you mean?”

Edelgard let out a startled noise and nearly fell out of her chair, but for Ingrid’s quick reflexes. “Oh, you know,” Edelgard said vaguely, red to the tips of her ears and waving an even-more-confused Hubert off.

“Jesus H. Christ,” Felix said for the second time in so many minutes, “I need another beer.”

Annette giggled. “You just got one, silly.”

Sylvain glanced to Felix meaningfully, and Felix tried to think, even just for a moment, about how the hell Sylvain would handle this. _By coming out and saying it, probably. _But Felix didn’t want all eyes on him and adoring attention.

He just wanted Annette to look at him like she had at the sushi bar again.

“Then _you_ do,” Felix said, pulling at her arm. “C’mon.”

Annette allowed herself to be pulled to her feet, giggling all the while. Felix wasn’t sure if she was that drunk or just found this whole thing that funny. He supposed it kind of was, if you hadn’t gone to Catholic School for a while with both Edelgard and Ingrid. This was sort of an average Tuesday.

When Annette leaned heavily into him all across the dance floor, Felix decided a change in course might be in order. “Let’s get you some air, yeah?”

Once outside onto the deserted patio, Felix drew in a deep breath. Annette was patting both of her cheeks, watching the puffs of air leave her mouth as frost. 

_God, _she was fucking cute.

“It was really hot in there,” Annette said. “Thanks!”

“No problem.” Actually, Felix had many problems. Chief among them being that he was both a coward and an asshole. 

Annette stopped patting her cheeks. “You okay, Felix?”

He shoved his hands in his pockets out of habit, and cursed internally when his fingers brushed her Christmas present again. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Annette gave an exaggerated shrug that nearly threw her off balance. “You just seem kinda…” She made a motion in the air with her hand, almost like how she conducted a choir. Felix had no idea what it was supposed to mean. 

“I, um,” he started, and then faltered.

“Hmm?” Annette was suddenly right in front of him, all bubbly energy and soft curves and bright, blue eyes and _attention_.

_God, _he needed to get a grip. And fast. “I have something for you,” he blurted out.

“Ooo, a present? You didn’t have to.” Her smile betrayed her, and Felix felt his chest cave in again.

“Wanted to,” he managed. “Here.”

He pulled it out of his pocket, and shoved it at her, unable to look her in the eye. Felix felt it leave his hands, and for a long, earth-stopping moment, Annette said nothing. 

And then a soft “Oh.” escaped her lips. “Oh, oh, _oh.”_

Steeling himself, Felix chanced a look back at her. She was staring at the paper between her hands, eyes wide and disbelieving.

Felix felt himself smile, just a little. “Merry Christmas, Annette.”

She slowly tore her eyes away from the paper to look at him, mouth agape. For a horrible moment, Felix worried that he’d just done something wrong. Maybe he should have gone with Sylvain’s idea; it was far less personal. Or Ingrid’s idea—Ingrid knew what girls liked, right?

“I can’t accept this,” Annette said.

Felix felt his stomach drop through his boots. “They’re already in your name.”

“Felix, this is _way _too much money!”

“Hush.”

She stared at him again, and Felix couldn't read her expression to save his life. He was starting to think this whole thing was a mistake and he ought to just disappear back into the bar—or better yet, out of it—and bury himself in another beer or four.

And then Annette threw her arms around his neck in a bone-crushing embrace that shorted out every single one of his drunken brain cells. 

“I can’t believe it,” Annette whispered, burying her face in his neck. “I can’t believe you got me plane tickets home.”

His face lit itself on fire at the feeling of her lips on his neck, in any capacity. “Go home, Annie. Be with your family for the holidays. We’ll all be here when you get back.”

She squeezed him even tighter, and enough of his brain went back online to rest his arms around her waist. She was soft and warm, gut-wrenchingly cute in her ugly sweater that read ‘Meowy Christmas’ over a kitten playing with a present box, and Felix felt the world slow to a complete standstill and threaten to swallow him.

“I don’t care what anyone else says about you.” Annette’s voice moved from his neck towards his ear. “You’re really sweet, Felix.” 

And she pressed a sloppy, inartful kiss to his cheek. 

_What else do they say about me? _He wanted to ask, but she was leaving his arms and he wasn’t ready to let go of her. Maybe ever. _Please stay, _he wanted to ask. _Please say you’ll stay._

“‘Nette!” He called out, grabbing hold of her arm before she slipped too far away.

She glanced back to him, cheeks pink in the cold, red hair a fiery halo in the porchlight. She was utterly, breathtakingly beautiful, and for a moment, he faltered. What business did a man like him have wanting a woman like her? He was made of a sharp edges and ground glass and all anyone ever wanted to do was leave him alone. But she was spun sugar and starlight, sweet and solid, bright as her future and beloved by many.

“Felix?” His name had never sounded so sweet.

Felix pulled her back firmly into his arms, trying desperately to form words, a thought, an action—_anything. _She was flush against him, now, their bodies aligned in the cold.

“Fe,” Annette said, her gaze flicking down to his lips, “kiss me?”

He sealed her lips with his own in a searing-hot, almost brutal kiss. Their teeth clashed, and Felix was half certain he bit his tongue when Annette pulled away. A bright, copper taste had filled his mouth.

“No, no,” she said, softly. “Like this.”

Their mouths slanted across each other again, and this time, Annette took care to soften against him. When he brought her closer to his chest, she sighed into his mouth and melted against him, and Felix breathed in the heady, sweet taste of _her._ He found it easier to relax against her, to loosen up just a little, without his heartbeat roaring in his ears.

Tentatively, he pressed his tongue against her lips, outlining them, memorizing what she felt like right this moment. He felt, more so than saw, Annette grin, and her lips parted a moment later. She tasted like the peppermint cocktails she’d been drinking all night, sweet with just a hint of bite.

Was _this_ what Sylvain had been chasing all these years? This high, this kiss, this heady feeling of _rightness? _If so, Felix finally got it. He could get used to this, could chase it across oblivion and back, if he needed to.

Would chase _her_, if he had to.

When they broke apart a moment later, it was barely far enough to breathe. Felix pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes and trying to crystallize this exact moment in his memory.

“Do you, um.” He was torn between what he wanted to do and what he hoped to God wouldn’t fuck this up. “Want to go out, sometime? When we get back?”

He felt her smile again, her lips so close to his, but still too far. “I was kind of hoping you’d ask.”

Felix pressed his lips against hers again, sweetly, softly. He let her lips fill in the gaps his made, and drew her as close to him as he possibly could. Her arms curled around his neck, her short nails dancing up his spine, and this time it was she who pressed her tongue to his lips, shyly exploring the bitter contours of his mouth, and breathing him in.

“Yo.”

Startled, Felix and Annette practically jumped apart. Annette knocked her hip into one of the empty tables and buried her face in her hands with a stream of curses. Felix threw his head back, breathed out a stream of frost that said _nope, Satan, not today _without the requisite words, and squared up his shoulders to face their intruder.

It was none other than Claude von Riegan and his shit eating grin.

“That looked like fun,” he said, “so, sorry to interrupt, but your bandmates are calling for you inside.”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. “What did you _do?”_

Claude’s grin remained fixed. “What I always do. Now go get ‘em, tiger.” He slapped Felix’s shoulder good-naturedly.

Felix valiantly resisted the urge to punch that smug face in. “Never say that to me again.”

“Ah, lighten up, Fraldarius.”

Twenty minutes later, Aegis found themselves plugged into the house sound. Sylvain tested the house kit, whereas Felix and Ingrid familiarized themselves with their borrowed fretboards. Annette tapped the mic a few times.

“I might just be drunk,” Annette said into it a moment later, “but I love this bar.”

The Golden Deer erupted in roaring approval and raised glasses, and Aegis struck up one of their newest songs, _Valkyrie._

_Vicious and strong, she is one of kind._

_It’s the end of the day and the end of the line._

_Valhalla is calling, and so she must go._

_She’ll ride into battle, through storm and through snow._

_The people are suffering,_

_The war, she is muffling,_

_It’s time for the fallen to rise._

_The end, it draws nearer,_

_Her task becomes clearer._

_At the end of all, she arrives._

_  
_Even drunk, Annette’s voice was clear and strong. She brought in the crowd like a born storyteller—which was exactly why Felix wrote the whole song that way.

_Mother Freya, hear our song!_

_White wings unfurl,_

_Through the end of the world,_

_Will you carry me to Valhalla?_

_If we should die,_

_To the task we shall rise:_

_Fighting free in Valhalla!_

Laughter tore at Felix’s throat during his solo. He couldn’t ever remember a time that he was so _happy. _Even on this borrowed guitar, drunk as shit and focusing _entirely_ too hard on his fingers, Felix could feel the new Aegis settling into its skin.

(And maybe he was, too.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you like my work, [come hang out on twitter!](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)


	18. The One Where the Band Take Selfies

It had been a long time since Felix had been to mass, at his childhood parish or otherwise. He, Ingrid, and Sylvain hadn’t kept up the habit in college, and at this point, not only was he out of practice, he wasn’t even sure where the nearest Catholic Church _was, _not counting Garreg Mach University.

But there he stood, in his nicest suit on Christmas Eve, with his father, uncle, and cousins, and tried not to let his mind wander too much.

He was met with mixed results. On the one hand, mass was comfortable, familiar. He could repeat everything back without thinking too hard on it. On the other:

He had a date. With Annette Dominic. 

She’d snapped him a selfie when she’d gotten off the plane, a huge grin on her jet-lagged face. _You’re the best, Felix!_ had been written over it. 

_And _you’re _adorable. _He’d snapped back. He wished he could have seen her reaction.

Just as the horrible cantor kicked off a truly heinous rendition of _Silent Night, _Felix’s Dad leaned over and said, quietly, “They really brought out the A Team today, didn’t they?”

Felix had to make a concerted effort not to snort. Did Rodrigue just…. Make a joke? At mass?

“Who are you and what have you done with my Dad?” Felix hissed back. 

Rodrigue only offered a shit eating grin in response. For a moment, Felix could almost believe all those stories about his Dad and Dimitri’s Dad getting into trouble at All Saints’ Academy and Garreg Mach. 

But then he blinked, and his father was genteel as ever, staring straight ahead as a couple of grade school kids brought up communion. 

-)

After mass, everyone had run home and gotten changed into warmer, comfier clothes, and so now Felix was bundled up in more exterior layers than interior as his father drove deeper into the darkening night. 

“I can’t believe we still do this,” Felix muttered. 

“Your cousins are the perfect age,” Rodrigue said. He too, was bundled up in a heavy coat, hat, and gloves. “I remember you and Glenn used to love it when you were little.”

_Strike one_, Felix supposed. But it was innocuous enough that he let it pass. 

“Still. It’s the same shit every year.”

Rodrigue chuckled. “Sure, but _they_ don’t know that. And the lights _are_ lovely.”

They fell into not-quite-natural silence. Felix took that moment to check the group chat. 

**Sylvain: **made it safe!

**Ingrid: **oh good, I was starting to worry about you 

**Sylvain: **[shocked face emoji] aww, ingy 

**Felix:** I wasn’t 

**Sylvain: **RUDE

**Annette: **also safe, yay!

**Sylvain: **dope!

[Felix liked Sylvain’s message “dope!”]

**Ingrid: **have fun with your mom!!!!

“How are Ingrid and Sylvain?” Rodrigue asked knowingly, pulling Felix away from the band chat. 

“They’re fine.” And because Felix knew his Dad wouldn’t accept that answer, he added, “Ingrid got her rotational placement. She’s at a CVS halfway between Garreg Mach and Fhirdiad.”

“Good for her! Unfortunate drive though.”

“Yeah, she’s already salty.”

“And how is Annette?” Rodrigue asked. 

Something about the way he said it made Felix glance over to him. But Rodrigue’s face was as impassive as ever; his eyes fixed on the road. 

“She’s fine,” Felix offered cautiously. “Busy as ever.”

“What does her family do for the holidays?”

Felix’s eyes narrowed. What was he playing at? “Dunno what Gilbert does, but Annette usually spends it with her best friend’s family.”

“I didn’t realize.” Rodrigue’s eyebrows furrowed. “She would have been welcome here, you know.”

_Again_, there was something in his voice, and this time it made Felix inexplicably angry. 

“I _know; _I called you about the last holiday, didn’t I?”

Rodrigue heaved a sigh. As he pulled up to a red light, he glanced over to his son—so tense, so angry, always. “I wish you didn’t feel the need to hide things from me.”

“What am I hiding?” Felix spluttered. “I answered your fucking question!”

Rodrigue sighed again, heavier this time, and said nothing. 

Which, naturally, only made Felix angrier. 

“I can’t read your fucking mind, Dad!”

“Enough, Felix,” Rodrigue said, just a touch sternly. “Enough,” he said again, although it was mostly a sigh.

Usually Felix could pinpoint what exactly he did to piss people off, even if only in hindsight. But frequently when it came to his Dad, Felix was left at a complete and utter loss. 

“You could have mentioned you two were dating,” Rodrigue finally said. 

Felix nearly choked on the sip of coffee he’d just taken. “We… aren’t?”

“Felix Hugo Fraldarius, I understand Thanksgiving was difficult this year, but I will _not _have you sit there and lie to me!”

**“**Jesus H. Christ, I’m not lying! We aren’t dating…” It finally clicked, what his father was angry about. ”...yet.”

All of Rodrigue’s previous anger evaporated. “Beg pardon?”

Felix shuffled awkwardly in his seat, staring at his calloused hands. “We have a date for New Year’s Eve. But I only asked her a few days ago.”

For a moment, Rodrigue could only stare. And then, abruptly, he burst into laughter. 

“Fuck off,” Felix said, feeling his face burn. 

“My first date with your mother was on New Years’ Eve, too,” Rodrigue offered gently.

Felix paused. “Really?” It was so rare that his Dad offered up any information on his Mom, that Felix always felt the irrational need to cling to it.

Rodrigue nodded. “Sylvain’s Mom set us up. We ended up leaving a really overcrowded club by nine and spent the rest of the night in that bookstore over on the East Side that doubles as a bar.”

Felix felt something squeeze tightly in his chest. “You never mentioned that before.”

Rodrigue sighed. “I suppose I haven’t.”

Zoo parking turned out to be a bitch, as was tradition. Felix and Rodrigue chugged the rest of their coffees, left their traveler mugs in the car, and braced themselves against the cold, as was tradition. Felix muttered under his breath about this being a stupid tradition, as was tradition.

All was right with the world.

They met up with his aunt, uncle, and cousins near the entrance gate. Rodrigue _was _right about one thing--Felix’s little cousins were the perfect age to go see the Zoo Lights. They gasped at the “walking” polar bear made up of alternating string lights out front, and they anxiously chased each other around the entrance until Felix’s Aunt Amy told them to quit it.

In line, Felix checked the group chat again. 

**Sylvain: **soooo my mom’s already drunk and my dad will not shut up about his latest business deal

**Ingrid: **ouch

**Felix: **classic

**Annette: **oh dear

**Sylvain: **so I have 2 important questions

**Sylvain: **1, the red or the white?

**Felix: **red

**Ingrid: **white

**Annette:** white!

**Sylvain: **2nd question

**Sylvain: **do I derail the conversation with Carnage, or an endless string of ex-girlfriends?

**Annette: **which will piss them off more?

**Felix: **either

**Ingrid: **either

**Annette: **[crying laughing emoji]

**Felix: **maybe Carnage?

“What are you smiling at?” came a voice from behind Felix.

He turned to see his Uncle Piers giving him an eyebrow waggle. “It’s just the band group chat,” Felix muttered, his face turning even redder in the cold. He lamented that his beanie couldn’t cover his face, too.

“And how _are _Ingrid and Sylvain, dear?” Amy said.

Felix repeated the same thing he’d told his dad, about Ingrid being placed in rotations. “Sylvain is still doing a bunch of freelance marketing work for various companies.”

“Oh, I bet he’s good at that, too,” Amy said with a laugh. “And what about your other friend from Thanksgiving? Annette, was it?”

“She’s fine.” Felix shoved his hands in his pockets, despite feeling his phone continue to go off. He could feel Rodrigue boring a hole in his skull, but he said nothing else.

“Is she graduating in May, as well?” Amy asked, seemingly unaware of her nephew’s internal struggle with his father.

“Should be,” Felix said, “barring some academic bullshit.”

“Felix,” Rodrigue said just shy of sharply, gesturing to Felix’s cousins.

“They’re not paying me any attention,” Felix muttered. And they weren’t; they were too busy annoying each other.

“_Must _you copy your brother?” Rodrigue sighed.

_Strike two, _Felix thought. But it was true that Glenn had taught him the word ‘fuck’ when he was six, so he let it pass.

The entrance to the zoo proper was always done up in so many lights it almost hurt to look at, but Felix couldn’t help but think that Annette would love it. The lights wrapped around trees, outlined buildings, and ran overhead, dancing and glowing against the darkened sky. The whole place was nearly as bright as she was, and Felix found himself wishing Christmas lights photographed better.

As they walked past various exhibits, most of the animals were sleeping or nearly so. But whenever they came across a nocturnal creature, his cousins pressed their noses up against the glass trying to catch a glimpse. (Felix couldn’t help but think Annette would love that, too.) 

At some point, the littlest Fraldarius complained that her feet hurt and she was absolutely not going to walk anymore. Piers and Amy tried to reason with her, but Felix knew an oncoming train when he saw one. 

“Do you want a piggyback ride?” he heard himself ask.

His cousin immediately stopped screwing up her face in preparation to cry. “Really? Like cousin Glenn?”

Although it hurt his heart, Felix nodded. “Yeah. Like Glenn.”

She barely left him the time to crouch to her level. His little cousin jumped onto his back with the force of a tiny hurricane, and Felix gave a small “oof!” before getting to his feet again.

“Hold on,” he managed to get out. His cousin snuggled against his back and held on as tightly as her little hands allowed, and then Felix begin to walk again. Piers and Amy both gave him grateful looks, which he embarrassedly ignored.

For a moment, his broken family walked alongside her whole one in silence.

The lights were pretty, Felix supposed. There were blue icicle lights hanging down from some of the taller trees, and string lights stretched across wire frames in the shape of candy canes, reindeer, and whatever else struck your Christmas fancy. The cold wasn’t so bad once you got used to it, and after a while his cheeks even stopped stinging in the cold. Most people didn't go to the Zoo Lights on Christmas Eve, which was exactly why the Fraldariuses had made a habit of it. The zoo was about as empty as a public place would ever be.

It was kind of nice. But also kind of lonely, like something was missing.

And then his phone went off again.

Juggling his cousin and his cell, Felix just barely managed to unlock the group chat.

**Annette: **So my mom has never met you guys

**Ingrid: **I mean, when would she have?

**Annette:** I KNOW! It’s tragic. You guys are great!

**Sylvain:** :D :D :D

**Felix: **Not you

**Sylvain:** D: D: D:

**Annette: **so can you send us a selfie in the group chat? She wants to “meet” you

Sylvain immediately sent a perfectly composed shot of himself and a crystal glass of white wine, full to the brim in what his mother referred to as a Country Club Pour.

**Felix: **you bastard, I told you to drink the red

**Sylvain: **it was already open!

A moment later, Ingrid sent a selfie of her and one of her older brothers, who was doing his very best to ruin her photo with bunny ears.

**Annette: **[crying laughing emoji]

**Ingrid: **alright Felix, your turn.

**Sylvain: **you ain’t getting out of this one, bucko

**Sylvain: **>:D >:D

He flipped over to his camera, and for a moment, Felix stood there debating how the hell he was going to do this while propping up his cousin. A single attempt told him he simply wasn’t.

“Felix?” Rodrigue called back from up ahead. 

“You coming, kiddo?” Piers added.

_Well, _Felix supposed, _he already knows. _“Hey, Dad, can you take a picture of me real quick? We’re doing a thing in the group chat.”

Rodrigue looked taken aback, but he recovered quickly. “Sure!” He came over and accepted Felix’s phone. “Smile!”

Felix shot him a dirty look.

“I’m not taking it until you at least stop glaring at it.”

Felix harrumphed, and his cousin actively giggled. “Are you making fun of me?” he asked her over his shoulder.

“You’re funny, Felix,” she giggled. “Waaaaay funnier than my brother.”

Felix snorted, glanced back to his Dad, and then was nearly blinded by the flash of his phone going off.

“There you go,” Rodrigue said, handing his son his phone back with a smile. “That ought to help.”

Felix cocked an eyebrow in his direction, but Rodrigue had already turned back to Piers. He glanced down at his phone again and took stock of the photo. For once, he didn’t look quite so angry, and his cousin was in the middle of a gigglefit on his back. Felix wondered what his Dad had meant by his last comment, but sent the photo in the group chat anyway.

A moment later, Felix understood.

**Annette:** Oh my gosh is that your cousin??? She’s so cute!!

**Ingrid: **and so big!!!!

**Sylvain: ** I can’t believe you’re letting her piggyback

**Felix: **it was that or let her cry

**Annette: **[crying emoji] [crying emoji] [heart emoji]

Okay, so maybe Rodrigue knew what he was doing. A little bit.

A moment later, Annette sent her own selfie to the group chat. She was sharing the frame with an older woman who had the kindest eyes Felix had ever seen, and who was also wearing a stylish, blue and orange headscarf.

**Sylvain:** is that your mama?

**Annette: **Sure is!!

**Sylvain: **she’s very pretty!

**Ingrid: **tell her we say hi!!!

[Felix liked Ingrid’s message ‘tell her we say hi!!!!]

**Felix: **that’s a lot more !!! than you usually use, Ingrid

**Ingrid: **I’m happy

**Ingrid: **you should try it

Felix hadn’t even truly started to laugh before Sylvain was commenting.

**Sylvain: **ROASTED [crying laughing emoji]

**Felix: **which of your brothers made dinner?

**Ingrid: **What makes you think this is because of food?

**Felix: **I know you

Ingrid took so long replying that he almost put his phone back away. 

Then:

**Ingrid: **...Brennan

**Sylvain: **on hon hon, ze professional chez!! [kissy emoji]

**Annette: **please don’t type in that horrible accent ever again

**Felix: **or use that emoji

**Ingrid: **how many have you had?

**Sylvain**: D:

**Sylvain: **jsut the one

**Felix: **the fuck it’s not. Your mom poured that 

**Sylvain: **duck off, grumpy cat

“I haven’t seen you smile so much in a long time, Felix,” Amy said.

Felix glanced up from his phone. “What do you mean?”

“Just that,” Amy said, smiling herself. “It’s good to see.”

-)

At some point on the return trip to the car, Felix’s cousin fell asleep against his back. His arms and thigh muscles were burning, but he didn’t have the heart to wake her up, not on Christmas Eve. He helped his aunt and uncle settle her into the car, and then, finally free of his burden, stretched out his back and popped it in about four places.

The car ride home was fairly quiet, with both Felix and Rodrigue warming up in the heat for a while. The group chat had quieted, and so Felix was left with nothing to do but watch the dark city fly by.

“Felix,” Rodrigue said at one point.

His tone made Felix nervous. What the hell had he done now?

“Nothing, nothing.”

With a jolt, Felix realized he must have said that last thought out loud.

Felix cleared his throat. “Now what?” 

“Glenn would be proud of you…”

_Strike three._

“Can we _not?” _Felix snapped. “Seriously, you were doing so well all night, and you pick _now _to throw it all out the window?”

“What do you mean?” Rodrigue sounded genuinely confused.

_“I’m not Glenn!” _Felix shouted.

Heavy silence followed in its wake.

“I know you aren’t,” Rodrigue said softly. “But you two are so much alike, I…”

“You don’t have to compare us,” Felix barked.

Although Felix didn’t know it, something deep and sharp twisted in Rodrigue’s chest, at that.

“Hell, I don’t _want _you to compare us,” Felix added in the mounting silence.

“I didn’t realize it bothered you,” Rodrigue said. It was the truth, but it felt so pale.

“Why the fuck wouldn’t it?” Felix snapped. “How would _you_ like being compared to a corpse you’ll never beat?”

“Felix, that’s enough…!”

“I know Glenn was your favorite, Dad. You don’t have to pretend like he wasn’t.”

Rodrigue slammed on the breaks so hard it nearly gave them both whiplash. An angry horn sounded behind and then beside them, but Rodrigue neither noticed nor cared.

“What on earth gave you that impression?” he asked, staring his son dead in the eyes.

Intense, amber eyes. Just like his mother.

Felix’s brow furrowed. “I mean, everything? You’re always comparing me to him, and telling me how great he was, and telling me what _hero _he died as, like that fucking matters.”

For a long, painful moment, Rodrigue was rendered completely speechless.

“Switch seats with me,” Felix barked, reaching for his seat belt, “I’ll fucking drive.”

“No, no,” said Rodrigue, putting it in gear again. “I’ve got it.”

Felix slumped back against his seat, arms folded across his chest again. Closed off. Defiant. _Angry._

Rodrigue’s chest ached.

“You always thought the world of your brother,” Rodrigue said softly. “I suppose I wanted to help you remember him that way.”

“I remember him fine,” Felix snapped.

“You wanted nothing more than to be just like him when you grew up.” Rodrigue glanced over to his son, only to find him looking away. “I thought he was your hero.”

“_Was.” _

Rodrigue was thankful they were sitting at a red light, because he had to shut his eyes against the weight of his grief.

“It’s so fucked up.” Felix was physically shaking. “The news was calling him a hero, and you were telling me that he wouldn’t have wanted to just stand there and do nothing, like he _wanted _to die, like he _wanted _to leave us, like it doesn’t _matter _that Glenn was a fucking _college student _and not some knight in shining fucking armor.”

For what felt like the hundredth time, Rodrigue tried to reason with him. “Your brother was a good man.”

“And you don’t fucking care that he’s gone!” Felix shouted. 

This time, the silence that followed had teeth.

“Is that what you tell their widows when your security guys die on duty?” Felix pressed. “_He was a good man?”_

“That’s _enough, _Felix,” Rodrigue snapped.

“Is it? You fucking sure?”

“_ENOUGH!”_

Rodrigue was seething in the driver’s seat, and Felix’s jaw was set so hard, his teeth felt like they were cracking. By some minor miracle, this drive was almost over; it couldn’t come fast enough.

“There is not a day that goes by that I don’t miss your brother,” Rodrigue managed through gritted teeth, “or your mother, or your sister. Don’t you _dare _tell me I don’t care.”

“Then fucking act like it!”

“How would you have me act, then?” Rodrigue fired back. “Snapping at anyone who gets too close and building my walls so high I can’t see over them?”

In the silence that followed, Rodrigue realized he’d gone too far.

“Y’know what, old man?” Felix finally said. “Fuck you.” 

He didn’t even wait for the car to stop moving, just unbuckled himself and rolled out onto the driveway.

The gravel bit into his hands and knees, even through his jeans and gloves. Rodrigue had jerked the car to a halt not thirty feet past where Felix had made a break for it. Felix spotted the driver’s side door opening and did the only sensible thing.

He bolted.

-)

They tried to outwait each other, Father and Son. Felix stayed outside so long he lost feeling in his face again, and Rodrigue poured himself a third cup of coffee from the French Press next to him on the foyer stairs, and waited.

When Felix finally let himself back into the manor, it was well into the night, and moonlight shone cool and silver on the tiled crest laid into the foyer floor.

They stared at each other for a long moment, the huge expanse of room and crest between them.

Then,

“I know you care about Mom and Glenn and Cecilia,” Felix said quietly.

Rodrigue sighed. “And I know the last several years have been very, _very_ hard on you.”

Felix looked down at his boots, and said nothing.

“And I realize now that perhaps I haven’t been talking with you as I should,” Rodrigue continued. “I’ve been talking at you, not with you.” With a small groan, he got to his feet. “You’re my _son_, Felix. Surly and angry, but my son all the same.”

Felix’s head snapped up, bitter words ready on the tip of his tongue, but he took one look at his Dad, and realized that he was joking.

“I’m serious,” Felix said. “Who are you and what have you done with my Dad?”

Rodrigue gave a small, humorless laugh. “Your Dad has been buried under mountains of grief for a long time.”

Neither of them was quite sure how it happened, but both Felix and Rodrigue found themselves suddenly standing in the middle of the room.

“How long has this been here?” Felix asked, poking at the blue tiles that made up their family crest with his boot.

“About as long as the house, I think,” Rodrigue said, and then he sighed. “So how about this. Tomorrow we’ll get up, make coffee, open presents, and watch _A Christmas Story, _and then you can decide whether you’d like to stay for dinner.”

Felix’s brow furrowed. “That sounds like a normal Christmas…?” It then dawned on him. “Wait, who did you invite to dinner?”

“Dimitri and his step-sister.”

“What the fuck, Dad.”

It wasn’t a question.

“They don’t have anywhere to go, Felix,” Rodrigue reminded him. “And I heard her father died a few weeks ago…”

“Yeah,” Felix interrupted, “he did.”

“And Dimitri wasn’t sure what to do, so I…”

Whatever cautious warmth Felix had been feeling was sucked out of him with the force of a hurricane.

“You _talk _to him?”

Rodrigue’s brow furrowed. “Dimitri?” At Felix’s nod, he added, “I make a point to meet him for lunch whenever work takes me to Garreg Mach.”

Felix’s feet were moving without the help of his brain. He pivoted around his father with a dueling move his brain had long since forgotten but his body clearly remembered, and shot towards the stairs. 

“Felix!” Rodrigue called after him. 

Felix took the stairs two at a time. He had been wrong about his father's favorite son. It wasn’t Glenn, no.

It was Dimitri.

He didn’t stop moving until he was shut away in his room. He shoved his back against the door and sank to the floor in a tight ball, arms around his knees, head buried. Felix took deep, sharp breaths and willed himself to be still.

His phone buzzed, and he welcomed the distraction.

He was surprised to find that it wasn’t the group chat, but just Annette.

**Annette: **Merry Christmas, Felix!!

She had texted at exactly 12:01. 

**Felix: **Merry Christmas, Annie

For a moment, he thought about texting her everything that had just happened, thought about calling her just to hear her voice. Could he do that?

He fell asleep curled against his door before he could figure it out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by 'Yule Shoot Your Eye Out' by Fall Out Boy


	19. The One Where Holidays Suck, Part 2

Sylvain had always thought that Christmas in the Gautier household was entirely too much a to-do. His grandparents came by and made a fuss, his aunts, uncles, and four cousins all stopped by at various times completely unannounced, and God forbid they not have 4 kinds of quiche and 8 kinds of champagne for mimosas at Christmas brunch. 

It was utterly exhausting, and he told Ingrid so when he snuck out to the back porch sometime in the early afternoon to call her and the rest of his bandmates. 

“I’m sorry,” she offered sincerely. “That does sound like a lot.”

“And the worst part is,” Sylvain said, “I don’t even know if it’s better or worse without Miklan around.”

“It’s better,” Ingrid said at once. 

“I mean, at least he was another target. I don’t really have many cousins.”

“Do you want some of mine?”

Sylvain gave an abrupt laugh. “Is that a proposition?”

He wished he could see her blush; he could hear it in her voice. “_No_, it’s a mayday. Do you have any idea how many tiny children are running around my parents’ house right now?”

“Probably—”

A sudden rapping came at the door behind Sylvain. His father was giving him a very stern look though the French double doors, and it took all of Sylvain’s willpower not to crumble. “Shit, I gotta go, Ingrid.”

“Is everything okay? Sylvain, don’t you dare hang up—”

He hung up, and headed inside. 

“Were you planning to avoid saying goodbye to your Great Aunt Mildred?” Valentín Gautier asked, his voice as sharp and pointed as his snakeskin boots. 

“Of course not,” said Sylvain, plastering on a fake smile. “I didn’t realize she was leaving; I’ll be right—”

A sharp smack resounded across the Gautiers’ pristine kitchen. 

“Don’t lie to me, boy,” Valentín growled. “I know you were on the phone with some whore.”

Sylvain willed himself not to shake by diving so deep within himself that he no longer felt anything at all. His phone continued to buzz in his pocket. “If by ‘some whore,’ you mean ‘Ingrid Galatea,’ then sure. I was just calling the band to say Merry Christmas; I was gonna be right back.”

Sylvain braced himself for a second smack that never came. 

Instead came something much worse. 

“Don’t be flippant.” Valentín folded his arms across his broad chest and narrowed his eyes at his youngest son. “How long do you plan to do this?”

Sylvain winced preemptively, but had to ask. “Do what?”

Valentín looked positively disgusted. “Avoid your duty.”

_Forever, probably._ Sylvain thought. “I’m not avoiding anything,” he said instead. “We all know law isn’t really my forte.”

Which wasn’t strictly true, but Valentín didn’t need to know that. 

“And you and I both know that was only ever a thin excuse. You’ve had your fun, now man up. Gautier and Sons needs you to learn your place, boy.”

Sylvain glanced down to his eye-wateringly white boots, and suddenly imagined them sprayed with blood. He had only just recently come back around to wearing white, after all, for that very reason. “I know where I belong.” _It’s far away from you. _

Sylvain wished he were more like Felix, and could say whatever the fuck he felt like regardless of how horrible it came out. He wished he were more like Ingrid, and could firmly stand his righteous ground. He wished he were more like Annette, and could take a punch with defiant resilience and fling one right back.

But he remained himself, Sylvain José Gautier, and he could do none of those things. 

“Either go to law school at Garreg Mach,” Valentín said, “or move back to Fhirdiad. Those are your options.”

Sylvain froze, eyes wide and staring. His heart was hammering in his ears, and the three kinds of quiche in his stomach were threatening to stain the granite countertops if he didn’t do something.

Somewhere deeper in their monstrous house, voices swelled. 

Glasses clinked. 

The front door opened. 

“I should go catch Aunt Mildred,” Sylvain said, too loudly even to his own ears. He disappeared into the hallway before his father could get out another word. 

A quick look at his phone told him he had 9 missed texts and 2 missed calls from Ingrid. 

**Ingrid: **SYLVAIN HOW DARE YOU HANG ON UP ME LIKE THAT 

**Ingrid: **ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR GODDAMN MIND

**You have one missed call from Ingy [heart emoji] G**

**Ingrid: **YOU CAN’T JUST DROP AN ‘OH SHIT’ AND RUN, YOU ASSHAT

**Ingrid: **WAit, shit. Is your mom drunk again?

**Ingrid: **Or did your dad do something???

**Ingrid: **I’m sorry I yelled. Can we talk?

**Ingrid: **Please?

**You have two missed calls from Ingy [heart emoji] G**

**Ingrid: **I’m worried about you

**Ingrid:** Please answer. I understand if you’re mad.

Anxiety sang in the back of his mind, and if he weren’t already disassociated to shit, he probably would have felt like crying.

**Sylvain: **My dad was banging on the porch door

**Sylvain**: I’m okay

Ingrid’s response was immediate.

**Ingrid: **Oh thank god

**Ingrid: **do I need to punch a bitch?

Sylvain smiled, just a little. _If only._

**Sylvain: **no, it’s all good. I’ll talk to you later, okay? Gotta go make nice with the fam

**Ingrid: **ok

He knew she wasn’t going to like that answer, but he could hardly risk giving his dad any more ammunition. 

With a sigh, Sylvain turned the corner into the family room. He wasn’t sure who was in his body as he shook hands and smiled and greeted and hosted, but it wasn’t him. His mom was usually nearby, glass of wine in hand, so his dad didn’t come too near him all afternoon.

This was fine. He was fine.

“Have you seen your mother, dear?” Sylvain’s grandmother asked him at one point. “It should be about time to check on the turkey…”

“My mom? She’s right...” Sylvain turned to the couch where his mother had been all afternoon, only to find it empty. “...oh. Let me find her for you.”

He passed by his dad, chatting with some uncles in the kitchen, with little more than a nod. He pretended not to hear his uncle call for him, just like he pretended to duck into the bathroom when he heard footsteps start to follow him.

Gautiers were good at pretending, after all. His mom pretended not to be an alcoholic and his dad pretended he didn’t get off to people’s misery. 

Sylvain waited a truly embarrassing amount of time before daring to escape from his dual safe zone/prison. No one _seemed _to be nearby, and so Sylvain took the opportunity to slip upstairs. 

He could hear a voice coming from the den--soft, feminine. The door was cracked, and so Sylvain thought nothing of opening it, and calling, “Mom?”

“...It’s _Christmas,” _she was saying--well, slurring--into her phone. “Can’t you just show up and be nice for a few hours? It would mean the world to me…”

Sylvain couldn’t make out words, but he _heard _the voice on the other end break into a violent tirade. He winced for his Mom, wondering who the hell she was pleading with. Normally it was his Dad, but Valentín was still downstairs, so far as Sylvain knew.

“We haven’t seen you in _years._ Don’t you think it’s time?”

The voice on the other end wasn’t nearly so loud this time.

“But that’s all in the _past, _don’t you see? You don’t have to…” A pause. “I know, I know. I just…” Another. “No, we don’t. He doesn’t.”

She finally seemed to realize she was no longer alone, and turned to find Sylvain sheepishly standing in the doorway. He gave a little wave.

“...He’s right here. Here, talk to him.” She held out the phone.

Confused, Sylvain took it and pressed it to his ear. “Hello?”

“‘Sup, you little shit?”

Sylvain dropped the phone like it burned him.

“Sylvie!” his mom said, stooping to pick up her phone and nearly toppling over. “Be careful!”

“No,” said Sylvain, backing away from her. “No, no, _no.”_

“Oh, Sylvain, don’t be so difficult. He’s your brother.”

His heart was hammering again, eyes frozen wide. “You can’t let him in here.”

“You haven’t seen him in _years, _Sylvain. He’s changed.”

“No, he hasn’t.” Sylvain was barely breathing, barely comprehending what he was hearing. “Mom, he’s in the _mob. _He’s killed people and should still be in jail. He… he threw me in a _well!”_

“You were children!”

“And locked me outside in the snow!”

“Lacey found you!”

“And then Dad put the dog down for biting Miklan after he beat it too many times.”

There it was, out in the open.

_Miklan._

A name not spoken openly in Sylvain’s parents’ house in years.

“You can’t…” Sylvain was having trouble forming words. “...just... _invite him _to Christmas dinner. Like he belongs there.”

“He is your _brother,” _Gabriella Gautier said sharply. Her bloodshot eyes were watery and narrowed.

“Mom, _please.” _Sylvain’s voice cracked, and good _God, _his brain was probably somewhere in Cheyenne, Wyoming. “Don’t.”

“I already told him dinner’s at six,” she said quietly. 

Sylvain checked his phone—5:37. “You gave me less than half an hour’s warning you invited that murderer?” he screeched. 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic. He was acquitted.”

Sylvain snapped back to his body with frightening clarity. “I’ll… tell dad, I guess.”

Gabriella hummed in pleasant victory. “Please do.” 

Sylvain backed out of the den like he was trying not to startle something deadly, and then flew down the hall to his room. He haphazardly threw the clothes he’d brought back into his duffel bag, snagged his toothbrush from the bathroom, and then was back into the hallway.

_5:48. _He wasn’t going to make it.

He was nearly to the front door when his Dad and uncle caught him. “Sylvain?” his uncle asked.

“What are you _doing?” _Valentín just shy of hissed.

Sylvain was lost for words for a moment, fumbling with his car keys in his jacket pocket. “I’m leaving.”

“You most certainly are _not,” _said Valentín. “Dinner is in ten minutes.”

Sylvain stared at his father, hand on the doorknob. 

“Less than,” Valentín said a moment later after checking his watch.

“Sylvain, please,” his uncle tried. “What’s going on?’

Valentín took one thunderous step closer to his son. “You get back here and apologize to everyone for making a scene, _now.”_

Sylvain drew in a very deep breath—“No.”—and yanked open the door.

He took off running down the driveway, deaf to his father’s cries of _Dammit, boy! _and his uncle’s _Sylvain, please! _His duffel bag thumped hard against his ribs, and his khakis weren’t made for running, but it didn’t matter. Sylvain was not losing this one.

He slid into his jeep’s driver’s seat practically sideways, shoving his duffel bag into the passenger seat and locking the door immediately behind him. He could see his father storming down the driveway, now, too proud to chase after anyone, least of all his son.

Sylvain threw it in reverse and floored it, nearly crushing his mother’s flowerbed at the end of the drive in his haste to _get the fuck out._

He passed a gaudy red sports car at the edge of the neighborhood, and refused to look at the drivers’ side, for fear of what he might find.

-)

Christmas Dinner at the Fraldarius household wasn’t nearly so terrible as Felix had initially feared. Edelgard and Dimitri had shown up at half past three with rolls from Kindly Devotee and a bottle of bougie red wine, and they had made small talk around the kitchen island as Rodrigue finished up dinner.

“Where’s Hubert?” Felix had asked as soon as introductions were out of the way. 

“Getting ready to binge watch Netflix, I think,” said Edelgard.

“Is his family already done Christmasing?” Dimitri asked, visibly surprised.

Edelgard reddened, and it occurred to Felix that he’d never actually seen that before. “He’s been doing Christmas with my family the last few years, actually.”

Dimitri blinked. “Wait, so where is he, then?”

“Er, the hotel I believe?”

“Fuck that,” said Felix. “Tell him to get his ass over here. Dad, do we have enough for another for dinner?”

Rodrigue surveyed the kitchen for a moment, taking stock of the asparagus still sautéing and the oven still cooking five steaks. “We’ll make it work. Please tell him to come, Edelgard.”

She turned visibly even redder, and Felix was only half convinced this was really Edelgard. “I didn’t want to impose…”

“To echo my son,” said Rodrigue, “fuck that. It’s Christmas. No one need spend it in a hotel room alone so long as this house hasn’t reached fire hazard occupancy.”

Dimitri dissolved into peals of laughter, and Edelgard very embarrassedly got up from her barstool and departed from the room. 

And so it was a truly hilarious combination of people clustered in the Fraldarius’ kitchen that afternoon. Hubert had dutifully shown up, dressed all in black and awkward as all hell. 

“I do hope I’m not imposing,” he’d said after being introduced.

Rodrigue had waved him off in a gesture that Felix had evidently inherited, because it made Hubert do a double-take.

Felix and Rodrigue didn’t often use the dining room, it being just the two of them, and so it felt sort of strange to be seated at the long mahogany table with his Dad, Dimitri, and half of Aymr. If you’d told high school Felix this was even possible, he’d have said you’re full of shit.

“So, what do you do, Mr. Fraldarius?” Edelgard asked at one point during dinner.

“I’m the Director of Seiros Security,” Rodrigue said, “and please, Rodrigue is fine.”

Hubert paused over the rim of his wineglass. “Weren’t they at Carnage this year?” 

Rodrigue nodded. “We were fortunate enough to be hired on, yes. We’ve actually done quite a bit of work with Volkhard von Arundel in the past.”

Hubert filed that little tidbit away for future reference, and almost missed Rodrigue’s follow up question: “And what do you do, Edelgard?”

“I’m a data analyst with Bergliez and Sons,” she answered, easily enough. “I work in their marketing division.”

“That’s an impressive way to say ‘I stare at spreadsheets all day,’” Dimitri teased.

Edelgard rolled her eyes. “At least I’m not checking my email at Christmas dinner.”

And sure enough, Dimitri embarrassedly shoved his phone back into his jacket pocket.

Felix cackled, pausing in the middle of cutting his steak. “Fucking _roasted_.”

Dimitri’s face burned red, and even Rodrigue gave a little chuckle. “And you, Hubert?” Rodrigue continued. “What do you do?”

“I’m a graduate student at Garreg Mach,” Hubert said. “Music pedagogy and performance.”

Rodrigue took a sip of wine. “I’m surprised you didn’t go into mortuary science. I’ve done business with your father on many occasions.”

Hubert made a face. “That was my undergrad.”

“The hell do you need a mortician for, Dad?” Felix asked.

“He’s also the county coroner,” Hubert said. He did little to mask his distaste, though for the job, or for his dad specifically, Felix didn’t know.

“Typically for investigations in Enbarr, yes,” Rodrigue said. 

“Are there many?” Edelgard asked.

“Not in recent years,” Rodrigue answered. “There was a slew of unsolved murders that ended a few years ago, but…”

Edelgard’s silverware clattered heavily to her plate.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, picking it back up again. “My hand slipped.”

Felix cocked an eyebrow at her from across the table, but his father quickly covered the silence. “Felix mentioned you’re also in a band?” Rodrigue said.

“Yes, we’re Aymr,” Edelgard said, gratefully latching onto a new topic. “We also played at Carnage this year…”

After dinner, Rodrigue roped all of this evening’s wayward children into helping with the dishes, and before long, they were all standing in the kitchen, blinking at each other with nothing to do.

“We should probably get going,” Hubert said to Edelgard, more gently than Felix had ever heard him speak.

Edelgard stared at her neatly manicured fingernails, the light flickering in and out of her eyes again. “I… suppose.” She squared her shoulders as she looked up again. “Thank you so much, Mr… Rodrigue. It’s been lovely to be…” Edelgard trailed off, searching in vain for the words she needed.

Rodrigue’s smile was very soft and very kind. “You don’t need to leave if you don’t want to. The boys and I were probably going to watch a Christmas movie.”

Felix bristled at being referred to in any sort of collective with Dimitri. But then the light snapped back into Edelgard’s eyes, and his relief for her replaced his anger (at least for the moment). “Are… you sure?” She glanced to Felix, as if waiting for him to snap something bitter.

“I mean,” said Felix with a shrug, “you already got through dinner.”

Rodrigue put a melodramatic hand to his heart. “Felix, I’m not _that _difficult, am I?”

Edelgard let out a surprised, breathless laugh, and Felix didn’t miss the way Hubert’s facial expression softened. “Do you mind?” she asked her shadow quietly.

Hubert shrugged. “It’s not as if we’ve anything to get back to.”

Edelgard turned back to Rodrigue. “Hubert means, we’d love to stay.”

Rodrigue laughed. “Excellent. I’ll make hot chocolate. There’s also plenty of booze if it strikes your fancy.”

Downstairs in the den, Dimitri took up one of the plush armchairs, Rodrigue, its mate across the room, whereas Edelgard and Hubert made themselves comfortable on one side of the sectional and Felix took the other. They argued benignly about which movie to watch, and Felix mixed RumChata with several people’s hot chocolate. For a moment, Felix sort of felt like this was some sort of makeshift, fucked-up family.

It was what his dad was known for making, after all. It was what had gotten Sylvain through childhood, Felix through Glenn’s death, and Ingrid through middle school.

They put on _How the Grinch Stole Christmas _and settled in. Dimitri passed out blankets at one point, which Felix pointedly refused, and Felix texted his bandmates (mostly Annette) on and off throughout the first part of the movie.

And then his phone buzzed one too many times to be a text.

Felix looked down, and saw that Sylvain was calling him. Which was weird, since he’d already wished him Merry Christmas. With a sinking feeling, Felix got up from his spot and headed for the kitchen.

He answered on one of the last rings. “‘Sup, Sylvain?”

“Hey, Fe.”

There was a huge pause, and Felix’s heart sank through his stomach. Sylvain hadn’t immediately launched into a story; something was very wrong.

“Sylvain?” Felix leaned against the kitchen island. “What happened?”

“Um.” Sylvain drew in a deep breath. “_MymomkindasortainvitedMiklantodinner.”_

Felix blinked. “Slow down. Start over.”

“My mom invited Miklan to dinner.”

Fury swelled in Felix’s chest. “She _fucking _what?”

“Can I crash at your Dad’s place? I got the fuck out of my parents’ house and I’m just driving around at this point, but it’s kinda starting to snow.”

“Fucking ‘course, dude; don’t be a dumbass. You eaten dinner?”

“I was just gonna drive through McDonald’s.”

“Fuck that. We had steak for dinner; I’ll heat you up one.”

Sylvain breathed a relieved sigh into the phone. “Thanks, Fe.”

Felix huffed and tried not to feel embarrassed. “Where are you, anyway?”

“Just passed All Saints’ Academy, so like, twenty minutes out?”

“Got it. See you soon.”

“You’re the best, Fe. Seriously.”

“Don’t forget it.”

They hung up together.

Felix pounded back down the stairs and announced, over the movie, “Dad, Sylvain’s on his way.”

Rodrigue immediately snapped to attention. “Now?”

Felix nodded. “His mom invited you-know-who to dinner.”

“Shit.” Rodrigue’s facial expression hardened. “Has he eaten?”

“No, and he was gonna drive through fucking Mickey D’s.”

“Heat him up something.” Rodrigue was now on his feet. “I’ll go change the sheets in the guest room and make sure there’s a clean towel for him.”

“I can change the sheets, Rodrigue.” Dimitri was suddenly on his feet, as well. “Are the spares still in the linen closet upstairs?”

Rodrigue nodded, and then suddenly, the movie was paused. “Is there anything we can help with?” Edelgard asked.

“No,” said Rodrigue, “but that’s kind of you.”

“Siddown, Dad.” Felix waved him off. “I got this.”

“You’ve done a lot today,” Dimitri agreed. Felix scowled at him, and Atrocity’s frontman pretended not to notice.

“Oh-kay.” Gingerly, Rodrigue sat back down in his chair. “You have your orders, soldiers.”

Dimitri gave a short, solemn nod, and Felix gave a massive eye roll, and the two departed.

“Which room should I do?” Dimitri asked Felix once they were in the kitchen.

“You know the one Sylvain always stays in,” Felix snapped. 

“Er, right.” Dimitri, mercifully, made himself scarce.

Felix was poking at the ribeye he was warming through in a cast iron skillet when the basement door creaked open again.

“It started snowing and people are driving like idiots,” Felix said without turning. “Don’t worry, Dad; he hasn’t gotten into a wreck or something.”

“While that is good news,” answered a cool, feminine voice, “I think you have the wrong person.”

Felix glanced over his shoulder to confirm what his ears had already told him. “Oh, Edelgard.”

With a heavy sigh, she seated herself at one of the kitchen stools. “Do you mind if I sit here a minute? I told Hubert I was getting another drink.”

Felix shrugged and they fell into companionable silence. The leftover steak began to properly sizzle in the pan, and so Felix went back to the fridge to grab the deglaze and also a beer. He wordlessly set one in front of Edelgard, as well, when he passed back by her.

“Oh, I um,” she said, “I’m still not drinking.”

“Help yourself to whatever's in there, then.” Felix felt his face catch fire. This is what he got for being nice. “You’ll look like a dumbass walking back downstairs without a drink.”

To his great surprise, Edelgard barked out a laugh as she got to her feet. “That’s fair.”

The deglaze hissed as he poured it into the cast iron, filling the kitchen with the air of garlic and red wine. He heard the fridge open and shut again, behind him.

“Felix.” 

He started. When had she gotten right behind him?

“Thank you for letting us crash your Christmas,” Edelgard said. The light was flickering in her eyes again, but she was as sincere as he’d ever seen her.

Felix toyed with the steak in the pan. “I didn’t have a say in it.”

“I know you,” Edelgard said. “At least enough to know you could have made this a lot more unpleasant.”

“I don’t have a problem with _you_,” Felix mumbled.

Edelgard’s small smile turned rueful, and she seemed to debate something. “So, who did Sylvain’s mom invite to dinner?”

It felt wrong to let go of someone else’s secrets, but at the same time, Miklan wasn’t exactly a secret. “His older brother,” Felix said. “The shithead.”

Edelgard’s eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t know he had an older brother.”

“Yup,” Felix said. “The disowned one. Miklan.”

Edelgard was silent for a moment. Then, “Did you know I grew up with ten siblings?”

Felix dropped the tongs; they clattered horribly against the stove. He winced as he went to retrieve them. “The _fuck? _I thought you were an only child?”

“I am now.”

The weight of that concept hit Felix full on in the chest, and he struggled to breathe. Losing Glenn had been bad enough—he couldn't fathom losing _ten fucking siblings. _How did that even happen?

“I was supposed to have a little sister,” Felix blurted out.

Edelgard’s eyes widened. “I thought it was just you and Glenn?”

Felix shook his head, his knuckles turning white on the tongs. “My Mom was in a car accident when she was eight months pregnant. She died there, and Cecilia died a month later in the NICU.”

A hush fell over the kitchen; even the steak in the pan seemed to sizzle more quietly. And why was he telling her this, anyway?

“How old were you?” Edelgard’s strong, clear voice was just shy of a whisper.

“Six, I think?” Felix had to pause to think back. “Glenn was like eleven.”

Edelgard clung to her can of Diet Coke like a life preserver. “I was six when my oldest brother died. Also a car accident.”

Most people said _I’m sorry _around now, but Felix was not most people. “Sucks, doesn’t it?”

“Oh my _God,” _Edelgard said, something of her usual energy infusing into the statement, “_so _much.” It was snuffed out just as quickly. “And then it _kept_ happening. Car accidents and illnesses and…”

_That string of unsolved murders in Enbarr, _his father had said at dinner, and Felix suddenly understood why Edelgard had dropped her silverware. He had never been particularly good with words, usually leaving that sort of thing to Sylvain—or more recently, Annette. He had no idea what to say to the grieving woman before him, and only the barest idea of what to do.

But he was as stubborn as he was blunt, and so he reached out and squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t let your light go out, okay?” 

“Sorry?” She made no move to shrug him off.

“Dead eyes.” Felix waved his hand in front of his face a few times. “Nothing behind.”

“Nothing left but a chill inside,” Edelgard added. “I _knew_ I liked that song.”

That was the exact moment that Dimitri chose to reappear. 

“Sheets are all changed over, Felix… oh!” He coughed. “Sorry, I, uh…”

“Shut the fuck up,” Felix muttered, taking his hand back from Edelgard’s shoulder. 

“I was just heading back downstairs,” Edelgard said. “Care to join me?”

Dimitri glanced from his stepsister to his ex-guitarist and back again. “I was, um, going to wait up for Sylvain.”

The glare Felix shot across the room was legendary.

“In the foyer,” Dimitri added. 

“Good call,” Felix barked.

And then he was alone again

-)

After looking Sylvain over and making sure he was (relatively speaking) okay, Rodrigue excused himself to the study. 

He stared at the tapestry of the Fraldarius crest over the mantle as his phone rang out—_one, two, three. _

Ever the procrastinator, she picked up on the fourth and final ring. 

“Rodrigue! What a surprise! Merry Christmas!”

Gabriella Gautier was slurring her words, Rodrigue immediately noticed. That probably explained a few things. 

“Merry Christmas, Gabriella,” he said. “Do you have a minute?”

“Sure, sure… whoa!”

Rodrigue knew that ‘whoa.’ He knew it very well from college. It was her drunkenly-standing-up whoa, the one Lambert had always teased her about. 

His chest ached. 

“Okay,” she said after another moment. “I’m in the kitchen, what’s up?”

Rodrigue drew in a breath and steeled himself for what came next. “Did you invite Miklan to dinner tonight?”

“Oh.” Her earlier cheer departed. “Is Sylvain there? Did he tell you? He left without saying goodbye earlier…”

“I’m not at liberty to discuss your adult son’s whereabouts with you,” Rodrigue said. “But no, he didn’t. Felix did.”

Gabriella sighed, and in that moment, sounded more exhausted than Rodrigue felt. “I just wanted my sons home for Christmas. Is that so wrong?”

Rodrigue sighed. “Gabriella, you_ know_ Miklan shouldn’t be in the same room as Sylvain.”

“They’re brothers, Rodrigue. After I’m gone, they’re all they’ll have.”

Rodrigue blinked a few times. “Miklan has tried to _kill_ Sylvain. It doesn’t matter if they’re family.”

“They were _children, _Rodrigue!”

“And he was well past old enough to know better!” Huh, they were shouting; that hadn’t taken long. “Gabs, I get it; I really do. If Glenn and Felix were estranged, I would have wanted them to bury the hatchet, too. But this isn’t bickering over a girlfriend or sibling rivalry—you _know _Miklan isn’t right and never has been.”

“Shut up, you sanctimonious prick!”

“You know I’m not going to.”

“_God_, do I ever.”

Rodrigue snorted, and, belatedly, Gabriella laughed, too. “Sylvain is _afraid _of his brother, Gabriella,” Rodrigue pressed. “You know that. You signed the restraining order in his place.”

“Miklan hasn’t done anything like that since they were kids, Rod.”

“Are you sure about that?”

Silence fell across the line. 

“What do you know?” Gabriella asked, her voice low and dangerous.

“Ask your son,” Rodrigue said. “Either of them.”

Abruptly, Gabriella burst into tears. “God, why is my family so fucked up?”

“I wish I could say I don’t know,” Rodrigue said.

“I know you don’t like him, but this isn’t Valentín’s fault!”

“Isn’t it, though? I know if I were Miklan, I would have resented the ‘miracle baby’ my father invested all his time in.”

“That isn’t true!”

“Don’t lie to me.” Rodrigue’s voice grew a hard, brittle shell. “You know damn well that once Sylvain was born, Valentín barely spared Miklan a second glance. _Especially _once he started school.”

“He just… thought Sylvain was a better fit for the family business,” Gabriella said, her voice very small.

“Do you hear yourself?” Rodrigue said. “Miklan was eleven when Valentín passed him over. _Eleven! _He hadn’t even hit _puberty _yet; how could you possibly have known what kind of adult he would become?”

“You apparently did,” Gabriella shot back.

“I saw _warning _signs,” Rodrigue argued. “Things that could have been worked through and dealt with.”

_But you didn’t _remained unsaid.

“What do I _do, _Rod?” Gabriella whispered. “This is all my fault, what do I do?”

“Apologize to Sylvain and divorce Valentín, for starters,” Rodrigue said. “But I’ve told you that.”

He didn’t need to see her face to know Gabriella was terrified. “You know I can’t do that. I... I love him.”

Rodrigue sighed. “Gabs, I know when it works, it's great. But it doesn't work more often than not, and especially not since Lambert died. Now do you want to tell me what's really going on in that head of yours, or do you just want to skip ahead to the part where you hang up on me?”

“What do _you_ think?”

The line clicked dead.

Rodrigue sighed. Why was Gabriella always so exhausting? She’d been this way the entire time he’d known her, and true, it was largely a rhetorical question, but _still, _he wondered.

His phone rang again, and Rodrigue picked up. “That was fast.”

“You’re expecting me?” came a smooth voice that did not belong to Gabriella.

“Oh, hello, Valentín,” Rodrigue said. “What can I do for you?”

“You know damn well why I’m calling,” he snapped. “Where the hell is my good-for-nothing son?”

“I’ve no idea where Miklan is,” Rodrigue said pleasantly. “I hope not with his brother.”

“_Sylvain, _you insufferable bastard. Where is _Sylvain?”_

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the whereabouts of your adult son with you,” Rodrigue said again. “If he wanted you to know where he was, he would tell you.”

“I will put out a missing persons if I have to!”

“And you and I both know that will be ended with two phone calls.”

In person, this was about the point that Valentín began looming, getting into Rodrigue’s personal space and throwing his weight around. They’d never actually gotten into a physical fight, but that was only because Valentín wasn’t stupid enough to throw the first punch. In the background on the other end of the line, Rodrigue could just barely make out Gabriella’s frantic yelling.

He wondered whom it was directed towards.

“Don’t threaten me, Valentín,” Rodrigue said. “Or at least, if you do, do it well.”

“If you’re harboring him, I swear to God…!”

“Sylvain is neither a criminal nor a fugitive,” Rodrigue interrupted, “so, there’s no ‘harboring’ of anything.”

“Don’t be a shit,” Valentín snapped. “I could ruin you.”

“Mm, getting better,” said Rodrigue, “but good luck finding anything to ruin me _with. _Unlike some, I pay my taxes and don’t have money in offshore accounts.”

It was far safer to push Valentín’s buttons from a distance, but _damn, _if it didn’t take the fun out of it. 

“Everyone has something,” Valentín snapped. 

“Even you,” Rodrigue reminded. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed how Sylvain _flinches _when I raise my hand over a certain height.”

“Corporeal punishment isn’t illegal, Rodrigue.”

“Is _that _what you’re calling the bruise on his face?”

“So he _is _over there!”

_Damn! _Rodrigue needed to calm down. He needed a way to get Valentín off the scent. He needed his wife’s opinion more now than he had in probably ten years. 

Or maybe his son’s. What would Felix say at a time like this?

“If you think so,” Rodrigue snapped, “then come and get him.”

“It’s _blizzarding _out, you fuck.”

“Then I guess you’ll never confirm it. But if you think I’m letting you in this house, you’re dumber than you let on.”

Valentín spat something on the other line. “That boy needs to learn his place in the world.”

“Oh, like Miklan has?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“I’ve never understood what Gabriella ever saw in you or Astrid.”

Rodrigue didn't even need to think about it. “Morals? Empathy? Actual listening skills?”

“Shut the _fuck_ up, Fraldarius.”

“Oh, or maybe it’s just _integrity.”_ Rodrigue was done with this conversation. “Merry Christmas, Valentín. I trust that you can sort out Gabriella yourself.”

Rodrigue had never hung up a phone call more furious—and uselessly so. It did him no good to yell over the phone when there was a living, breathing child in his home in desperate need of—

“Rodrigue?”

He turned towards the door, only to find Sylvain standing in it. The boisterous drummer was very quiet, almost shy, and it made Rodrigue uneasy.

“Yes, Sylvain?”

“Did you just yell at my Dad and not tell him I was here?”

“Yes.” Rodrigue sighed. “I’m sorry, I know I should be more… oof!”

He was cut off when Sylvain pulled him into a bone-crushing hug.

“Thank you,” Sylvain whispered. “Thank you, thank you, _thank you.”_

Rodrigue squeezed his now-oldest son back. “You’re safe here, Sylvain,” he said. “Always.”

He felt when the wet splotch appeared on his sweater, but it took Rodrigue another moment to realize that Sylvain had started to cry.


	20. The One Where the King is Crowned

Rodrigue Fraldarius awoke on boxing day with a house full of kids, and a heart even fuller. 

They stumbled down into the kitchen one-by-one. First had come Dimitri, ever the early riser, and they chatted for a while about how things were going at Garreg Mach. Then had come Edelgard, bleary-eyed and in clothes borrowed from Felix the previous night. She poured herself a generous mug of black coffee and quietly took the seat beside Dimitri.

Then had come Felix, who was at the coffee pot making a second pot before even barking hello. He didn’t so much as glance at Dimitri, but topped off both Edelgard and Rodrigue’s cups before securing himself a barstool. Then had come Hubert, who was doing his best impression of wet cat in clothes he had borrowed from Sylvain (“Sorry, man,” Sylvain had said the previous night when he’d handed Hubert a lime green shirt that said “blow me, it’s my birthday” above a picture of a cupcake with a candle. “If it makes you feel any better, it’s my favorite sleeping shirt.”).

Last had come Sylvain himself, tousle-haired and drawn by the smell of bacon and coffee. He took one look at Hubert and cackled.

While Sylvain made himself a nuisance, Edelgard couldn’t help but notice that everyone’s coffee mugs were completely mismatched. Hers was a souvenir from one of the beaches in Brigid, perhaps a family vacation? Hubert’s read “Fuck cops,” and Rodrigue had told them it was a gag gift from the Seiros Security White Elephant one year. Felix’s said “Garreg Mach University Alumni”, and Sylvain’s looked to be plain black at first, but then changed colors into the night sky as it warmed through. Dimitri’s was chipped on one side and shaped like a doughnut, complete with the hole in the middle.

It was chaotic; it was homey; Edelgard loved it.

“Everyone sleep okay?” Rodrigue asked as he set a plate full of pancakes on the kitchen island.

“Fine, thank you,” Hubert said, and Edelgard immediately nodded.

“Thank you so much for having us,” she added.

Rodrigue waved them off. “I wasn’t about to make you drive home in a blizzard.”

“Are these chocolate chip?” Sylvain asked as he studied a pancake he’d just speared with a fork.

“Some are,” Rodrigue said. “I left some plain for Felix.”

“You’re the _man, _Uncle Rod,_” _Sylvain said, spearing another before drowning his plate in syrup.

“You’re disgusting,” Felix told him. 

“That _is_ a lot of syrup,” Edelgard agreed, her brow furrowed.

Sylvain maintained eye contact as he shoveled the first, syrup-soaked bite into his mouth.

Felix made a gagging noise and went back to his own (plain, with butter) pancakes. Dimitri gave a long-suffering sigh, and then followed suit. For a moment, Edelgard could only stare at Sylvain in growing horror as he continued to eat his sugar-infested breakfast, until Hubert waved his hand in her vicinity to draw her attention back to her own plate. 

Rodrigue was stifling a laugh. “So, what’s on everyone’s agenda for today?”

“A shower and my own clothes,” Hubert said immediately. “Provided I can borrow a towel.”

“I’ll find you one after breakfast,” Rodrigue promised.

“I can’t believe that you, one, kept that shirt,” Felix said to Sylvain, “and two_, _made Hubert wear it.”

“That is the most comfortable shirt I own!” Sylvain argued. “Wait a minute, what did you do with yours?”

Edelgard spat coffee onto the granite countertop. “_You _had one, Felix?”

“It’s the birthday shirt from Quartz,” Felix said a touch defensively, getting up to find a washrag. “_He _told them.” He gestured viciously to Sylvain.

Sylvain cackled. “He was so drunk; it was so good.”

“Only because _you _bought him shots all night,” Dimitri piped up. “Even after we all agreed not to, since Felix should not do shots.”

“I’m not a lightweight,” Felix huffed, slapping the washrag down on the counter.

“Oh yes, you are!” As though struck by something, Dimitri suddenly deflated. “Or, were.”

“I didn’t hear any of that,” Rodrigue said brightly, and to general laughter.

“Do we know how the roads are?” Edelgard asked. “Hubert and I left our bags at the hotel and I’d rather not get those turned in to lost and found.”

Rodrigue glanced to the clock on the double oven. It read 10:37. “I’d wait until noon or so. That should give them enough time to clear and salt the roads. They usually wait until the storm’s mostly passed.”

Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri all nodded in agreement.

Hubert and Edelgard exchanged a look, and then he sighed. “Far be it from us to argue with the locals, I suppose.”

Felix raised his mug. “Welcome to Faerghus.” 

-)

“I missed this room,” Sylvain said as he tapped out a beat on his practice pad. “We got a lot of good writing done in this room.”

They’d taken over the Fraldarius’ music room after Edelgard and Hubert had left. Faerghus winter sunlight streamed through the windows as Felix hunched over his electric to jot down lyrics and notes, and Sylvain perched on the arm of the couch with his practice pad in his cross-legged lap. 

“So take this for nothing,” Felix sang as he tested chords behind it, “or take this for true. And if your heart stops beating, that one’s on you.”

“Try that first riff again,” Sylvain interrupted. “I want to hear something.”

Felix obliged, going back to the finger-tapping monstrosity from before. 

“So take this for nothing, or take this for true,” Sylvain layered over it. “And if your heart stops beating, that one’s on you.”

They stopped, and stared at each other for a moment. It had layered perfectly.

“Oh, that’s _dope_,” Sylvain said at the same time Felix said, “We’re keeping that.”

“So have you thought about where you’re taking Annette on Saturday?” Sylvain asked as Felix made more notes on his papers.

Felix groaned. “No, and thanks for that.”

“You have like, four days, dude!”

“I _know,” _Felix said irritably. “I just... haven’t thought of anything good enough.”

Sylvain studied his best friend for a long moment. He managed to sum up everything he was thinking in “That’s _adorable.”_

“Fuck off,” said Felix. Then, in a rare moment of vulnerability, added, “I just don’t want to fuck this up.”

“I get that,” said Sylvain, and he immediately snapped into Big Brother mode. “Well, what are you doing for dinner?”

“I don’t know,” Felix said, “because if we go out, she’ll get uncomfortable if I spend literally any amount of money on her, and if we like, do steak or something at one apartment or the other, it’ll just feel like the band hanging out.”

“Ooo,” said Sylvain, “that’s valid.” He tapped aimlessly on his practice pad for a moment. “Oh, you could come to Ordelia’s with Ingrid and me? Then you can blame the dinner choice on me.”

Felix gave an annoyed sigh. “That is, not only, the most expensive restaurant in Garreg Mach, it’s _still _just the band.”

“God, you’re so picky!” 

Felix rolled his eyes. “I don’t know why I tell you anything.”

“Because I prevent you from looking like a dumbass in front of the girl you like?”

Felix made an annoyed noise. “Do you have to make it sound like junior prom?”

“Dude, girls love prom.” A thought suddenly occurred to Sylvain. “Oh! You should take Annette to the annual Garreg Mach New Year’s ball! I’m sure I can get Dorothea to get you tickets.”

“Fuck no!” Felix spluttered. “I would _also _like to enjoy this date. Besides, I don’t think Ingrid would like you calling in favors from Dorothea.”

“Doro and I have an understanding,” Sylvain said. "And Ingrid would understand if it were for you."

“Is 'an understanding' what you call ‘brunch and then banging?’”

“No, it’s what I call ‘we are too similar to date and would murder each other if we tried.’ Besides, the point of brunch is to bitch about our love lives—and there’s no bigger turn off than that.”

“Sounds fake, but okay.”

Sylvain gave an annoyed sigh. “Look, I’m trying to help _you _out, bud.”

“I didn’t ask.” 

“You never do,” Sylvain said fondly. 

Felix gave another, larger sigh, and then stood up. “I’m going to get another drink.”

“Can you grab me a Sprite?” Sylvain asked Felix’s retreating back. 

“No,” said Felix, which Sylvain took to mean yes. 

He busied himself with Twitter for what felt like 30 seconds before the music room door opened again. “Forget something?” Sylvain teased. 

“Beg pardon?” said a voice that in no way belonged to Felix. 

Sylvain’s head snapped up, only to find a one-eyed monster standing uncomfortably just inside the room. “Oh, Dimitri,” he said, faintly, “what’s up?”

Dimitri shuffled his feet for a moment, and then came to sit over on the end of the couch opposite Sylvain. Just like he used to. Like this was still normal. 

“I, um.” Dimitri was wringing his hands, now. “Wanted to ask if you were okay. You didn’t seem yourself last night and Felix mentioned your mom invited—”

_“Don’t,”_ Sylvain said sharply. 

“...Well, you know,” Dimitri finished, somewhat offhandedly. 

They sat in brittle silence for a good solid minute. 

“I left before he got there,” Sylvain finally said. 

Dimitri’s shoulders slumped. “That’s good.”

“_If_ he got there,” Sylvain added quietly. 

“Which do you think is more likely?”

“I don’t know,” said Sylvain. “I’ve only ever half understood him.”

Dimitri was quiet for a long moment.

“I’m sorry I never noticed,” he finally said, quietly. “What your brother did to you, that is.”

“Why would you?” Sylvain sounded somewhere far away. “I didn’t want you guys to know.”

Dimitri winced. “I hope you know that makes it worse.”

Sylvain shrugged. “What good would it have done? My Mom wouldn’t have believed you, either.”

“Glenn would’ve.”

“And then done what, gotten himself arrested? Really, it’s better that you didn’t know. Any of you. He wouldn’t have stopped at just me.”

“The first time he touched Ingrid or Felix would have been the last,” Dimitri said fiercely. “For all of you. Can you imagine what Rodrigue would say? What Mister Galatea would?”

“It doesn’t really matter. My dad would have talked them down, like he always did for Miklan.” Sylvain held his drumsticks like a stuffed animal, close to his chest. “Really, Dimitri, it’s not worth beating yourself up over.”

Something flashed in Dimitri’s icy blue eye. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

The door opened again, this time admitting one Felix Fraldarius. “We’re out of Sprite, so I got you a…” 

He stopped dead when he took note of Dimitri.

“Get out,” Felix hissed at once. The cans of pop crunched in his hands.

“Easy, Fe,” Sylvain said. “He was just asking me about—” 

“He’s still in shock, you sick fuck,” Felix shouted as if Sylvain weren’t even there. “Don’t come fucking bothering him with your conspiracy theories about—”

“Conspiracy theories?” Sylvain interrupted. “Felix, what are you talking about?”

“Felix, please,” said Dimitri, ignoring Sylvain as well. “You know I have more class than that. I just wanted to make sure he’s alright.”

“Of course he’s not fucking alright,” Felix said. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” Sylvain interrupted hotly.

Felix shot him a dirty look. “Am I wrong?”

“No, but I don’t need you putting words in my mouth!”

“How can I possibly put words in your mouth? _You just agreed with me.”_

Beneath the rising argument, Dimitri became aware of a rhythmic buzzing noise. “Guys,” he said. Then again, a little louder, “_Guys.” _And then, _“GENTLEMEN.”_

Felix and Sylvain paused, mid-shout, to look at him.

“Your phone is ringing,” Dimitri said to Sylvain.

Sylvain’s eyes shot open wide, and he looked to his phone with growing horror.

“Oh, _no,” _he whispered.

“Don’t answer it,” Felix said immediately.

“I can't do that. I’ve been avoiding him all day."

Dimitri held out his hand. “Let me handle it.”

“_No,” _said Felix, immediately.

Sylvain glanced from Felix to Dimitri, wishing he could sink into the couch cushions, and then slapped his phone into Dimitri’s massive palm.

Dimitri hit answer and gracefully brought the device to his ear with half a ring to spare. “Sylvain Gautier’s phone,” he announced, “Dimitri Blaiddyd speaking.”

“I beg your _fucking _pardon?” snarled the voice on the other end.

“Oh, Mister Gautier, hello,” Dimitri said, his face and tone impassive. “It’s been a while.”

“Where is my _son?” _Valentín growled.

“Currently indisposed,” Dimitri said. “May I take a message?”

“What are you, his secretary?”

Dimitri gave a clipped, polite laugh. “I suppose for the moment.”

“Don’t be flippant; put Sylvain on the line.”

“I’m afraid I can’t. As I’ve said, he’s indisposed.”

“I own this phone line, and his phone, and his ass. He damn well better answer me.”

“He…” Dimitri paused as Felix hissed something towards him. He furrowed his brow, and leaned closer.

“...not Gautiers’ phone,” Felix was saying. “He’s on my family’s plan.”

“Oh,” Dimitri said, into the phone again, “I’m being informed you actually do not. I would suggest you check your phone bill.”

If this were a cartoon, Dimitri could picture this being just about the point that steam began shooting from Valentín Gautier’s ears. “Listen, boy,” Valentín said. “I’m well aware you’re all at Rodrigue Fraldarius’ place, and if you do not--”

“You have no idea where we are,” Dimitri cut in smoothly. “We could be out to lunch in Fhirdiad and he just went to the restroom. We could be having wild sex in a Garreg Mach Dorm room while avoiding Vice President Seteth…” Felix made a gagging noise and Sylvain shoved his head into a throw pillow to stifle his laughter. “...or he could be dead and murdered and I could be carrying on this conversation whilst burying his body.” Sylvain’s suffocated laughter immediately stopped. “The point is, you know nothing of Sylvain, and even less of me, so know that if you threaten my friend one more time, this will be the last we speak on friendly terms.”

“Don’t threaten me, brat,” Valentín said. “Your father isn’t here to save you.”

Dimitri’s facial expression shut down hard. “Goodbye, Mister Gautier. Don’t call this number again.”

And he hung up.

Sylvain stared in open shock while Dimitri fussed with a few of his settings, and nearly missed his phone entirely when Dimitri threw it back, saying, “There. Blocked him for you.”

Sylvain’s eyes were wide. “You just made him _so _mad, dude.”

“Can’t say I care,” Dimitri said calmly. “Also, you should probably get a new phone number, Sylvain.”

Sylvain made a face. “I think he’d probably find it.”

“Not without a lot of headache first,” Dimitri pointed out.

“Which is really all we can hope for,” Felix said, "at the moment."

The three of them stared at each other for a long moment, each wondering what the others saw.

Then Sylvain said, “Do you guys wanna watch TV or something? I still haven’t seen _One Punch Man _and I keep meaning to.”

“Sure,” said Dimitri. “It’s hilarious; Dedue loves that one.”

Felix glanced to his lyrics, now lying forlorn beneath his guitar, even as fury sang in his ears. “I guess.”

And for the first time in over a year, Felix, Sylvain, and Dimitri all left a room together.


	21. The One Where Felix Gets More Than He Bargained For

“Mercie, do I look okay?” Annette asked for the twelfth time in as many minutes. “I don’t know if I look okay. Should I change? I don’t know if I should…” She was dressed in her nicest pair of jeans, short brown boots, and a cream-colored sweater, plus her hair was down for once. “Is this too boring? Maybe it’s too boring?”

“Annie,” Mercedes interrupted as gently as the action allowed, “you look lovely. No need to worry about it.” She smiled, hugely, at her best friend of many years. 

Annette reddened to the tips of her ears. “I’m sorry. I’m just nervous.”

“I can tell. But I promise everything will be just fine.”

For a moment, Annette almost believed her. And then a knock sounded at their front door, startling both women and sending Mercedes scrambling to open it. “Hello…? Oh, Felix!”

Mercedes glanced back to Annette, brow furrowed, only to find Annette equally as confused. “Hey, Felix,” she said. “You didn’t have to come all the way up here.”

He shifted in discomfort. _God, _did he look good in a sleek black quarter-zip and boots that actually fit him for once. “You weren’t answering your phone,” he mumbled. 

Annette’s hand shot to her pocket, only to realize she must have left her phone in her other jeans. “Hold on!” She took off towards her room. 

Annette found it in the pocket of the jeans she’d originally wanted to wear (but had tragically discovered a hole in the thigh), and with two missed texts and a missed call, to boot. 

All from Felix. 

Annette screamed internally as she scrounged up her purse and jacket. Why was she so _hopeless? _And _where _was that one orange crossbody bag she had that wasn’t broken?

She burst from her room a few minutes later with a “Sorry, sorry, sorry! I switched jeans and I…”

Felix snorted, effectively silencing her. He was still standing by the door with his hands shoved in his pockets, evidently talking to Mercedes. “Don’t worry about it,” he said. “Glad you’re not stuck behind a bookshelf or something.”

Mercedes giggled. “Has she told you that story?”

Felix’s eyebrows rose. “Wait, has that really happened?”

_“Mercie!”_ Annette shouted.

Mercedes’ laugh only grew louder, airier. “Ask her about it sometime.”

“Will do.” Felix’s amber gaze shot sideways to Annette, and it made her want to melt into an embarrassed puddle. Right after she kissed him senseless.

“Happy New Year’s, you two,” Mercedes added with a Cheshire grin.

Felix suddenly found himself wondering what in the hell he’d gotten himself into.

-)

“It was _one time!” _Annette exclaimed over Felix’s riotous laughter. “_One time!”_

They were sitting in Quartz, the perennial favorite bar of Garreg Mach’s students, awaiting pub food as hot and greasy as God intended. Annette has only put up a nominal fuss when Felix told the server it was all on his check, which he considered a win.

This was, after all, officially a date. If they were doing this, they were doing it right.

“Okay, okay,” Felix wheezed, “but, a bookshelf? _Really_?”

“It was a summer job!” Annette defended. “I was the only one there that early, and all the books I needed to shelve were on the end cap!”

It was mostly a perfunctory defense, because it was so rare to see Felix laugh this hard. It cracked the hard edges of his mask and warmed his dark, amber eyes completely through. It was almost worth being the butt of the joke, just to see it.

Almost.

He was trying so very hard to get a hold of himself. He would nearly recompose his facial features, only to crack up a moment later. “I had no idea libraries were so dangerous,” he deadpanned. 

“You’d know if you hung out in them,” Annette shot back. 

He finally got a hold of himself, at that one. “Who says I don’t?”

Annette blinked. “I... um, what?”

“I was a double major at Garreg Mach,” Felix said. “Trust me, I was _very _familiar with the library.”

“I had no idea,” Annette said. “What were your majors?”

“Graphic design and criminology.” Felix winced, and then added, “With a minor in the damn fencing team, felt like.”

Annette blinked—once, twice, thrice—unable to believe her ears. She knew he worked in graphic design as a day job, but—“Did you just say _criminology?”_

Felix was staring into his beer now, not looking at her. “It was a compromise with my Dad. He got what he wanted, I got what I did.”

“He wanted you to major in _criminology?”_ It didn’t compute. Felix had never displayed the _slightest_ interest in law, let alone a degree in it.

Felix’s voice was dead flat. “How else was I supposed to be able to run Seiros Security one day?”

“Do you even _want _to?” Annette asked him. 

“No. It was supposed to be Glenn’s job, but…” Felix trailed off. “Anyway, I told him to just leave it to Dimitri if it mattered so damn much.”

They were veering into dangerous territory—into very much _not first date _territory—but Annette couldn’t help but ask, “So then what did he say?”

Felix gave a hoarse laugh. “’That isn’t what Lambert would have wanted.’”

Annette choked on her beer. 

“I know.” Felix snorted. “Like a _dead_ man has opinions.”

That was the exact moment the server came around with their dinners. She wore a look of moderate concern as she set their dinners down, and gave Annette pointed look over her shoulder.

“Thank you!” Annette said brightly. 

Felix said nothing. 

The first bite of her burger was complete bliss—crisp onion, tangy ketchup, and perfectly grilled burger patty, all melding into one delicious bite. Annette wasn’t sure she could remember the last time she’d had a burger that wasn’t of the sad, frozen variety. There was no contest.

“Did you know you hum when you eat?”

Annette glanced up, only to find Felix smirking at her. Her face lit itself on fire as she scrambled about for a napkin. “You’re a dick, Felix!”

“What?” His brow furrowed. 

“You can’t… just… point that out!” Annette buried her face in her napkin. God save her now, this was the end. She’d die of embarrassment. 

“Why not?”

“Ooo!” How _did_ he manage to be so annoying? “You’re just trying to embarrass me!”

Felix smirked again and, as if to prove a point, took an over-large bite of his own burger, and hummed somewhere in the back of his throat. “There,” he said from behind his hand. “Now we’re even.”

Abruptly, Annette started to laugh, all ire forgotten.

Felix reddened, rolled his eyes, and took another bite. He could also hear a voice that sounded suspiciously like Sylvain’s in the back of his mind, shouting, _get a room!_

He told it to mind its own damn business.

“So, am I allowed to know what we’re doing after this now?” Annette asked him.

Felix shrugged. “Depends on if you want it to be a surprise. You’ve waited this long.”

“Okay, but like, your vague instructions on what to wear made life kind of difficult.” Which was a massive understatement, and to which the clothes thrown about her room could attest.

“First off,” Felix said, “they were Sylvain’s vague instructions. Second, I just said to wear something you could move in.”

“And that’s so _vague!” _Annette argued.

They bickered good-naturedly for a few more minutes, and then fell into companionable silence that was only the slightest bit awkward. Annette wasn’t sure how she was supposed to _be _around him anymore. On the one hand, this felt just like hanging out with the band (minus a few). Plus, she’d hung out with just Felix before, and this felt a lot like that.

But on the other hand, her stomach kept flip-flopping when he caught her eye, and she couldn’t keep her eyes from wandering down the form-fitting edge of his dark sweater. She'd originally thought it was black, but upon closer inspection, it was actually a very dark shade of navy that suited him well.

And then she started wondering what he saw in her. Maybe she’d been right after all and her clothes _were _too boring. She wasn’t even wearing any jewelry! She’d been worried about “being able to move” with a heavy necklace or long chain, and so she and Mercedes had decided against it.

Maybe this night was a horrible mistake after all, and he was just counting down the minutes until he could drop her off back at the apartment and tell her it wasn’t going to work out and kick her out of Aegis and pretend like he hadn’t kissed her at the Golden Deer Party and…

“Annette?”

She blinked, suddenly back in her barstool at Quartz. “Sorry?”

“You seem out of it.” Felix’s brow was furrowed in concern. “Are you feeling okay? Do you want me to take you home?”

Annette let out a startled “Eep!” at the question, and proceeded to knock over her beer in the process. It went sliding across the tabletop and careening directly towards Felix’s lap.

Felix was up and moving the instant he saw it, hopping sideways to avoid the worst of the mess. The rest of the pilsner splashed down the side of his jeans, and Annette watched him wince.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Annette barely registered that she was shouting. “Let me grab you a towel!”

By the time she’d gotten to her feet, their server had arrived, wet washrag in hand. “Happens all the time,” she said over Annette’s embarrassed protests. “Don’t worry about it.”

Felix wiped himself down with the rag before he sicced it on the table. He came around the corner to avoid the deluge of tabletop beer, and it was only after the server left with the beer-sodden rag and a promise to bring another that Annette realized, “Oh my god, your dinner is soaked.”

She wanted to sink into the concrete flooring. Her first real date since middle school, and she’d gone and spectacularly fucked it up. This was it. The end. She’d die of embarrassment, if Felix didn’t kill her first. 

Felix huffed. “I feel like this is the perfect opportunity to make a terrible joke, but I can’t actually think of any.”

Could… it be?

“Not how you wanted to get wet?” Annette offered tentatively.

She was rewarded with a hoarse bark of laughter. “Okay, _Sylvain.”_

“Hey!” Annette put her hands on her hips. “Just because we’re both gingers does _not _mean you get to compare our senses of humor!”

Felix was laughing when the server returned with a fresh rag. The woman wiped down the rest of the table as best she could, promising to find Felix an un-soggy burger as soon as she was done.

-)

“Hold it with both hands,” Caspar was instructing, “and then pull back over your head and let ‘er rip!”

He demonstrated as he said it, and a heavy thud followed a moment later.

“Nothing doing!” Caspar added brightly. “Now, c’mon, you guys all get to try now. I’ll be around to help as you need it.”

Felix got into position across from the bullseye in his and Annette’s lane. He naturally fell into a swordsman’s stance as he squared up against his target, both hands coming to rest on the axe handle. He pulled back as instructed, and then brought the axe forward and let go at what he thought was the proper moment.

The axe sank into the wooden target a ways away from the painted rings. With a muffled curse, Felix went back to retrieve it. 

“Hey, you guys!” Caspar was in their lane when Felix came back to the waiting area (and his beer). “Fancy meeting you here!”

“I can’t believe you fucking work here,” Felix told him.

Annette giggled. “I can’t believe you’re working here _on New Year’s Eve.”_

“As opposed to what,” Caspar asked, “Edelgard’s party? I’ll go after work; they’ll be going until dawn. Plus, Hubert’s way more fun once he’s had a few, anyhow.”

They were sharing their lane with another couple in a way not unlike bowling, and so it was a few moments until Annette’s turn came up. “So like this, Caspar?” she asked, holding up the axe.

“Bring your hands closer together,” Caspar instructed, and Annette did so. “And square your feet a little more.” She did. “There! Now get mad and let loose!”

Annette drew in a deep breath, pulled the axe over her head, and then let it fly.

It sank directly into the center of the target.

“Bullseye!” Caspar laughed, clapping approvingly. “Also, Felix, why do you smell like a brewery?”

“Because I got beer spilled on me at Quartz,” Felix said. 

Caspar cackled—“Classic Quartz!”—and then continued making his rounds.

“Hell yeah, Annie,” Felix said to Annette once she got back.

She was blushing a pretty shade of red at their praise, and Felix decided he rather liked it. He began devising ways to keep it on her face, and decided he should probably keep a mental list.

Just, y’know. In case.

“It’s just beginner’s luck,” she said. “Give me a few more rounds and we’ll see.”

She remained just as much a natural all through the free throw, and eventually they befriended the couple in the lane with them and started playing Horse. (Actually, it was Annette who befriended them; Felix just didn’t scare them off immediately after.) They were a couple of undergrads from Garreg Mach, not super into the bar scene and too late on the uptake to get tickets to the New Year’s Ball.

“R!” the boy in the Garreg Mach sweatshirt announced when Felix missed making the same ring on the target.

“Dammit,” Felix muttered. Annette returned to lane a moment later with a fresh drink, and he could literally feel his spirits lift. (Was that a bad sign? Felix felt like it might be a bad sign.) “What the hell is that?”

Annette glanced to the purple drink in her hand. “Blackberry pilsner! Here, try it.” She held it out to him.

“I don’t do sweets,” Felix reminded her.

She shook her head. “It’s not sweet at all. Here, actually, can you hold onto it? Looks like it’s my turn.”

Felix found himself double fisting beers as Annette stepped back up to the line, passing the Garreg Mach Girl as she went. Felix sniffed at her beer, and it didn’t _smell _grossly cloying, like cider or bad wine. He took a tentative sip just as her axe sank deeply into the middle ring. 

“No letter this time,” she called brightly.

The boy groaned and went back up to take Annette’s place at the lane. 

Annette retrieved her beer. “Well? Did you try it?”

“Not bad,” Felix admitted. “Still prefer IPAs, though.”

Annette laughed. “So proud of you.”

Felix tried to ignore how his face lit itself on fire and how much it made him feel like a hypocrite. “So have you decided what classes you’re taking this upcoming semester?”

Annette nodded. “I only need a student-teaching seminar and one more round of choir, so I’m actually only a part-time student for the first time in… well, ever.”

“Do you know where you’ll be student teaching?” Felix winced as the Garreg Mach boy sank yet another axe into the inside ring.

“Saint Indech Middle School, I think,” Annette said. 

“That’s halfway to Fhirdiad,” Felix said as he went up to the line. “How will you even get there?”

“I don’t know yet!” Annette called after him.

“S!” the Garreg Mach girl announced a moment later, after Felix’s throw went wide, and Felix cursed again.

“Ingrid’s rotational placement is at a CVS around there,” Felix said as he joined Annette. “You could she if she wants to carpool?”

“Ooo,” said Annette, “that’s a good thought.”

Garreg Mach Girl landed a bullseye, and so Annette was a tad nervous as she stepped back up to the line. She curled her hands around the smooth wood of the axe handle, drew herself up to her full height of five feet (in the boots), and drew the axe overhead.

It landed dead center.

She threw both hands up in excitement as she turned back to her lane, just in time to see Felix grin. “That was impressive,” he told her.

She felt herself blush again, and resigned herself to the fact that that was apparently just going to be her default state around Felix.

By some minor miracle, Garreg Mach boy missed the target entirely on his next throw, and for a few rounds, it seemed like half-Aegis might even pull one out. Annette lined up on the last throw, curled her hands around the axe handle, and let loose.

It sunk into the wall two feet off target.

The Garreg Mach couple whooped in excitement, and Annette had to stop herself from stomping back down the lane to get the axe. 

“We were so _close!” _she bemoaned at the bar with Felix a few minutes later. “Just this much…” She held her thumb and index finger a few millimeters apart. “...better and we would’ve had them!”

“I’m just shocked we came back,” Felix said over his beer. “If not for you, they’d’ve crushed us.”

Her irritation fell away as warmth spread through her chest. “All in, that was really fun.”

Felix snorted. “Glad you thought so.”

At that moment, the bartender came around from behind the bar to turn up the volume on all the TVs. For a moment, Felix annoyedly wondered why, but then he realized all of them were tuned to the stations with a New Year’s Countdown. With a jolt, Felix checked his phone, only to discover it was somehow 11:55.

“Ooo, I haven’t watched the ball drop in ages.” Annette’s excitement was palpable, her giggle infectious. Felix wasn’t exactly sure what she was doing, sitting with him at the bar in an axe-throwing joint, but he wasn’t about to jinx it, either. “Did you guys ever do that, growing up?”

“Sometimes,” Felix said. “And then my Dad would take Glenn and me out into the driveway with those obnoxious poppers.” Little Glenn had also enjoyed spooking Little Felix with them, no matter how much a scolding it earned him.

“Oh! Mine too! Well, I mean, it was just me. And it was my uncle, not my Dad. But still!”

Felix gave a short little laugh as the minute countdown began. He glanced to Annette, who was staring up at one of the bar TVs with genuine wonder, and suddenly Felix felt his lungs cave in. She must have felt his gaze, because after a moment she glanced back to him, and then Felix found himself staring down a blue-grey sea.

Wasn’t he supposed to kiss her at midnight? Sylvain had said something about that during the week, but if Felix was being entirely honest, he’d started tuning Sylvain and all of his ‘advice’ out days ago.

Would she even want him to, in this room full of all these people? Caspar was even lurking about somewhere, and if _he _found out, then there would be no easing into this… whatever this was. Did Annette want that? Did she want to be known as the girl who kissed Felix “Fuck you” Fraldarius? He was embarrassed enough that Claude had interrupted them. He wasn’t sure he could live it down if _Caspar _knew; word would get out faster than an Aymr blast beat.

_God, _this was so much harder when he was sober!

“_Happy New Year’s!” _fell around their ears, but Felix could have finally gone deaf from all his years of playing electric guitar, for all he heard them.

“Happy New Year’s, Fe,” Annette said quietly. She was still looking up at him with those eyes.

“Happy New Year’s,” he somehow managed to get out around his collapsed lungs.

She was so pretty in her fuzzy white sweater, so small and warm when she’d hugged him earlier while apologizing up and down for ten minutes about the beer incident. And Felix would have been lying to himself if he didn’t admit that he’d thought about that one, glorious moment on the Golden Deer’s patio _a lot _over the last week.

_Fuck it, _he decided. And he leaned over her barstool to slot their lips together.

It was honestly even better sober. She tasted like the blackberry beer she’d been drinking, but there was some kind of inherent sweetness behind it that Felix was starting to think was maybe just inherent to Annette_. _He felt it when she smiled, felt it when she laid her hand on his cheek, felt it when his heartbeat skidded right out of his chest. 

But they were still in the middle of the axe-throwing bar, and so it was a short, chaste affair. But even so, when he broke away, it took Felix a moment to remember where the hell he even was.

“I hear it’s good luck to get a New Year’s kiss.” Annette was giggling, smiling, vibrant in her joy. It was everything that made her so, _so _pretty, and so, _so _much his opposite.

Was she sure about this?

“Who told you that?” Felix asked.

She smiled wider. “Mercie, but she’s usually an expert on those kinds of things.”

Felix made a mental note to never get on Mercedes’ bad side.

-)

“You didn’t need to walk me all the way up here,” Annette said to Felix as they lingered outside her apartment door. “Seriously, it’s three flights.”

He shrugged, and tried not to show how winded he was. “I wanted to hear the end of the story.”

“It wasn’t _that _interesting,” Annette scoffed. 

Felix opened his mouth to reply, only to be cut off by Annette’s drunken neighbors stumbling back to their apartment down the hall. They were forced apart to let them through, and Felix found Annette nearly buried in his chest when he stepped back.

“I wonder how Sylvain and Ingrid’s date went,” Annette asked, watching her drunk neighbors go.

“Probably fine,” Felix managed to get out. What in the hell was he supposed to do with his hands? Leaving them at his sides felt stupid and awkward, but he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to just... _touch _her. “I didn’t get a ‘mission failed’ text all night.”

“That’s good!” Annette turned back to look at him, and _damn-damn-damn _those eyes would be the death of him. “I know Ingrid was worried about dating him, ‘cause… um. Well. You know.”

“You can say Glenn.” His voice sounded rough, even to his own ears. “It won’t hurt me.”

“Okay,” Annette said softly. “Glenn.”

When she went up on her tiptoes to kiss him good-bye, Felix momentarily forgot how to breathe. All he knew was the feel of her body pressed up against his, her arms around his neck and his around her waist. He felt when her eyes fluttered shut, eyelashes brushing his cheek, and when he pulled her as close as he possibly could, she sighed into their kiss. 

“Thanks, Felix,” Annette said when she broke away. “Tonight was really fun.”

For the first time in ages, Felix felt a real smile try to break through. He was left with a lopsided thing that at least felt more genuine than a smirk. “We could, um, do this again sometime?”

She beamed. “I’d like that.”

She didn’t let go of him, despite the keys clutched in her hand, and for a moment, Felix was paralyzed by the thought that she might be debating asking him in. He had no idea what he was doing already when it came to romance; doing _that _was probably just a recipe for disaster. 

Unless _Annette_ knew what she was doing? Felix wasn’t sure how he felt on that one, but he supposed it was probably better for at least one of them to have a handle on how sex worked.

Damn, maybe he should have listened to Sylvain.

...

  
No, wait, that was a terrible idea.

“Drive safe home, okay?” Annette finally released her hold on him, and Felix swore he felt his lungs re-inflate. “Text me when you get home.”

“Sure,” Felix said. Something strange was settling into his chest, making his sweater feel tight.

She unlocked the door, hesitated for a moment, and then went up on tiptoe again to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you for practice on Thursday?”

“You know it,” Felix said.

She smiled at him one last time before slipping inside her apartment. It wasn’t until he heard the lock click back shut that his brain kicked back online and Felix had the sense to start back down the stairs.

His cheek was pleasantly warm where she’d kissed it, even when he stepped back outside into the crisp winter air.

-)

All through his drive home, Felix’s mind wandered across the evening, across possible futures, across possibilities. He wanted to call Sylvain and ask for help, but he also knew he’d never hear the end of it if he gushed about a fucking date like a middle school girl.

So he tried to think through it logically instead. 

She liked him. That much, at least, was blessedly obvious. And he liked her. That had taken a minute to arrive at, but once he’d gotten there, it was the end of pretending not to notice the curve of her hips or the brightness of her smile. 

So… what was the problem? _Was _there a problem? Could he just… ask her out? Repeatedly? And it would work?

It sounded entirely too simple. 

And _where_ was Sylvain when he needed him? (Felix didn’t dwell on that thought.) Maybe he and Ingrid were home already and Felix and Sylvain could crack beers and hang out. That sounded okay; Sylvain would probably want to talk about how his date with Ingrid went, anyway. 

Things were probably going to get weird around the rental house while they figured out their shit, and Felix wasn’t looking forward to becoming the inevitable third wheel hanging out with the couple _in his own damn home, _but their lease was up at the beginning of June. Maybe he could get his own place afterwards? With a shiver, he also realized, he could get a place _with Annette _one day. And just… come home to her singing and sweetness and brightness and broken crockery and… and...

Holy shit, he was Felix Hugo Fraldarius, and he _had it bad. _

His mind was still elsewhere when he pulled into the driveway. It was devoid of Sylvain’s jeep, which meant he and Ingrid were still out. That was fine, Felix supposed. There was always tomorrow to talk to them.

As he pulled the key from the ignition, something began pricking at the back of his neck. It felt sort of like what his Dad had always referred to as the Soldiers’ Sense—the borderline preternatural buzzing that alerted you to danger. Felix had always assumed Rodrigue had been talking about garden-variety anxiety, but this felt different, somehow. More pointed than aimless buzzing in his skull.

It wasn’t until he shut the door to his car and turned to face the house proper that he realized the front door was ajar.

Adrenaline shot through his veins, pushing out any vestiges of beer and Annette’s touch. Why was the door open? Sylvain and Ingrid couldn’t possibly be home yet if his car wasn’t here, and they’d made Dimitri give his key back when he’d moved out (not that the boar had put up much of a fuss about it). 

Something was very wrong. 

Felix edged cautiously towards the house, taking stock of his surroundings in a way that had once been automatic. He eased open the front door more fully, at the ready should something jump out at him.

But nothing came.

He stepped cautiously in his own home, boots making soft footfalls on the laminate of the entryway. He got to the main room and found the light switches in the wrong positions, so he flipped them up and flooded the combined kitchen/family room with bright light.

And what he saw kicked him in the stomach.

There, on the wall behind the couch, was a message scrawled in what had to be blue paint but looked like blue blood.

_This. Means. War._

Below that was scribbled a stylized graffiti tag of a lion, still in blue.

Felix’s keys made an unholy racket when they slipped from his grasp and landed hard on the tile floor.

“Fucking shit,” he breathed.

That lion could only mean one thing—the Fhirdiad Mob.

End of Act I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, everyone!
> 
> I'm still working through the comments on the last chapter, please bear with me. I'm also revising a few minor details in regards to Sylvain's parents, so bear in mind that will also be updating in the coming days
> 
> also, let me know in the comments if you'd like for act II to be tacked onto this fic, or a second, separate fic. I'm leaning towards the first one, but can't decide 
> 
> as always, I appreciate you all, and hope you're enjoying yourselves :)
> 
> also, happy belated birthday, Felix!


	22. The One Where Act II Begins

There were so many people in and out of Aegis’ house on New Year’s Day, it was beginning to feel like a gas station. 

First had come the police, investigating the crime scene, taking pictures, and asking Felix if anything had been stolen. Reasonable scrutiny proved no—the PlayStation was still in the family room, their instruments and equipment were all still downstairs, the kitchen appliances were still in place—but Ingrid and Sylvain’s rooms had clearly been rifled through. 

Then had come Byleth Eisner, still dressed for Edelgard’s New Year’s party in a short black dress and lacy tights. She calmly elbowed her way in on behalf of Seiros security, asking questions and making the cops acutely aware of their own failings to patrol the area. Felix had never been more grateful for his dad’s overprotectiveness, or happier to see a member of Atrocity. 

Then had come Ingrid and Sylvain, back from their date. Their easy smiles quickly gave way to concern, especially when Felix put himself bodily between Sylvain and their home. 

“Don’t go in there,” Felix had said. 

“Don’t be stupid,” Sylvain had said. “It’s our damn house.”

He’d juked around Felix like the former football player he was, only to stop dead at the sight of the writing on the wall. 

His keys had made an unholy racket when they dropped to the floor. 

Aegis had then spent a sleepless night huddled together on Annette and Mercedes’ family room floor, stubbornly ignoring their anxiety and marathoning the only movie in their collective collections guaranteed not to set off panic attacks, which just so happened to be _Shrek. _Annette’s bulldog, Crusher, didn’t leave Sylvain’s lap for most of the night. 

Morning had brought Claude von Riegan, standing casually on Aegis’ front porch like he’d ever been there before. 

Felix blinked a few times, wondering if sleeplessness had finally caught up to him. _Nope. Still there. _“Um,” he said. “Can I help you?”

“Not exactly,” said Claude, “but I think I can help you. Mind if I come in?”

Felix winced. “No commenting on the state of things.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Claude said. He sounded reasonably genuine, too. 

Felix fell back to the kitchen, the Golden Deer’s owner in tow. “You want coffee? We just made a big ass pot.”

“Sure, sounds… _oh, shit.”_

Claude’s keys dropped to the floor.

“I did the same thing,” Sylvain said from where he sat on the couch, playing what appeared to be _Dark Souls 3._

“I _said _no commenting,” Felix said irritably. 

“I know, I know.” Claude was staring at the wall over their couch with wide, unreadable eyes. “I just… wow. That’s really the mob, isn’t it?”

Felix set several coffee mugs on the counter with more force than was strictly necessary. “Yup.”

“Hey, Claude,” Ingrid said as she strode into the kitchen. “What are you doing here?”

Claude scooped up his keys and followed Felix into the kitchen. He wordlessly accepted the mug held out to him, fingers curling around the warmth. “Heard what happened last night.”

“_How?” _Felix barked. 

Claude waggled an eyebrow. “Do you think anything happens in this town without my knowing?”

“Atrocity were there last night,” Sylvain called from the couch, “weren’t they?”

Claude laughed. “You have me there.”

“How’d Atrocity find out so fast?” Ingrid asked, sedately pouring creamer into her coffee.

“Dimitri’s roommate told him, who told them, who told me,” Claude said, tapping his fingers against his ceramic mug at each layer. “Plus, I think Byleth got a call from her boss at Seiros.”

Ingrid spat out the sip of coffee she’d just drank. “You called your _Dad, _Felix?”

“I didn’t know what else to _do!” _Felix defended, cheeks going pink. “The cops were useless.”

Claude paused mid-sip. “Your dad is Byleth’s boss?”

“I guess,” Felix said. “I didn’t know she worked for Seiros Security until last night.”

Claude filed that one away for future reference. “Anyway, here.” He reached into his jacket pocket and then slapped an envelope on the counter. “Nobody fucks with my Deer and gets away with it, even the mob.”

“I’m sure an envelope will do loads,” Felix muttered.

Claude shot him a withering look. “This is for one of those state-of-the-art home security systems from AW.”

Ingrid almost dropped her mug. “_No,” _she breathed.

“We’ve got it handled,” Felix snapped.

“Call the number in there and ask for Balthus,” Claude continued, as if they hadn’t spoken. “It’s already paid for and he knows you’re coming.”

“We can’t accept this, Claude,” Ingrid said, still in visible shock.

Claude grinned; it was almost predatory. “We look after our own, Ingrid. Everyone chipped in last night.”

“We’re not a charity case,” Felix snapped. 

“Fe,” Sylvain called over, “relax.”

Claude watched in amazement as Felix’s hackles practically receded. It was like seeing a horse brought to heel from full gallop. “You deserve to feel safe in your own damn home,” Claude said, gently. “Besides, it’s just a little money.”

Ingrid’s face softened. “Tell everyone thank you, from us.”

“You can tell them yourself in a bit,” Claude said, “which brings me to the other reason I’m here.”

“The bougie security system wasn’t enough?” Sylvain asked.

“Ordinarily, sure. But since y’all weren’t at the bar last night, there’s some news for you.”

The air grew still in Aegis’ home.

“I got a call from Volkhard von Arundel the other day,” Claude said. “He has this idea for a massive music festival this summer, but with some kind of twist he wouldn’t tell me. Wants to call it either Ailell or Valley of Torment.”

Felix snorted. “In case anyone was wondering if it were a Metal festival.”

Sylvain cackled from the couch. “I hope he goes with Ailell; that’s way less generic.”

“He knows a lot of the Carnage regulars hang out at the Golden Deer,” Claude continued, although he was grinning, “and asked if he could do an elevator pitch one night.”

“What is this, a goddamn board room?” Felix snapped.

“Right?” Claude laughed. “I told him I’d spread the word if he promises to actually drink something while he’s taking up stage time at my bar.”

“And?” Ingrid asked.

“He has the floor next Sunday night, for anyone interested.”

Aegis was quiet for a moment. 

Then Sylvain said, “So, what, is he trying to fill that gap where Duscur’s Summer Smash always was?”

“Maybe,” Claude said. “But the fest will be in Fhirdiad, I hear.”

“I’m always down to go home,” Ingrid said.

“We’ll chat,” Sylvain promised her. “_Right, _Felix?”

“Whatever,” said Felix, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

Claude beamed. “Anyway, please look after yourselves, and let me or Hilda know if there’s anything we can do.”

“We’re fine,” Felix said.

“That’s very kind of you,” Ingrid said.

“Eh.” Claude threw back the rest of his coffee and turned to go. “Like I said, nobody fucks with my Deer.” He took about three steps towards the door, and then paused, eyebrows furrowed. “Um, do y’all know the car in your driveway? Looks expensive.”

“_What?” _Sylvain was off the couch in an explosive movement, anxiety spiking

Ingrid yelped and grabbed for his controller as his character immediately began dying onscreen. “Sylvain, I’m not good at _Dark Souls!” _

Sylvain peered outside for a moment around the edge of the blinds, and then his shoulders relaxed. “Oh thank fuck, it’s just Rodrigue.”

Felix spat coffee onto the linoleum floor. “It’s _what?”_

“I was expecting _my _dad,” Sylvain offered, heading back to the couch. 

Ingrid apologetically handed him his controller back. “You dropped all your souls.”

“That’s okay,” Sylvain muttered, not looking at her. 

“Fucking shit,” Felix said from across the room, already looking for places to hide. “Don’t tell him I’m—”

A loud, authoritative knock came from the front door. 

“I don’t think you can avoid it,” Ingrid said, although she did have mercy on him and went to open the front door herself. “Hi, Rodri—oof!”

He had pulled her into a huge hug.

“Ingrid! I’m so glad you’re safe.” He released her, already peering over her shoulder. “Are the boys here, too? I came as soon as I could. “

Felix’s dad had not set foot in his son’s rental house since helping the boys move in three years previous, and it was strange having him back in it at all. Sort of like when a professor showed up at a bar or the grocery store, it made the universe feel deeply unbalanced. 

Felix sighed from behind the counter. “Hi, Dad,” he called out. 

Sylvain followed a moment later. “Hi, Uncle Rod!”

“Oh, thank the Lord.” Rodrigue breathed a sigh of relief, and then seemed to notice Claude. “Oh, I’m sorry I don’t believe we’ve met?” He extended a hand. “Rodrigue Fraldarius, nice to meet you.”

“Claude von Riegan,” he said, reaching out to take it. “I came by to see if this lot was okay, but I’m actually on my way out.”

Rodrigue nodded and moved to get out of the way of the door, but then paused. “Wait, are you Oswald’s boy?”

“His grandson,” Claude said. 

“Oh! The political science major.” Claude seemed surprised as Rodrigue added, “He talked about you all the time, whenever we met up with him. Will you tell him I say hello?”

Claude nodded—“Sure thing. Nice to meet you, Mister Fraldarius!”—and was out the door in record time.

“That’s honestly more than I ever knew about Claude,” Sylvain commented, “and we’ve been going to the Golden Deer for years.”

“His grandfather is like that, too,” Rodrigue offered. “Plays everything close to the vest.” He headed towards the main room, and then stopped before the graffiti on the wall.

He did not drop his keys.

“So, this is it, huh?” Rodrigue said lowly.

Nods came from around the room.

“I want to fucking paint over it already,” Felix muttered.

“I don’t blame you,” Rodrigue said. “But I’d wait until the cops give you the all clear.” At the _look_ he received, he added, “Or we do. Byleth is writing up her report now.”

“Thank you for sending her,” Ingrid said. “Also, do you want any coffee? We just made a fresh pot.”

“Sure, thank you. And I would have come myself, but I figured Byleth could get here a lot faster.”

“She didn’t even change,” Sylvain said. “It was honestly kind of hilarious, seeing her yell at the cops in a short-ass dress.”

“And cheesy lace tights,” Ingrid muttered.

Rodrigue gave a little laugh. “I hear she dresses, ah, interestingly, when she’s not at work.”

As Ingrid handed Rodrigue yet another coffee mug, he noticed the envelope on the countertop. “What’s this?”

“Claude dropped it off,” Felix said. “It’s for one of those bougie new security systems.”

“Is it any good?” Ingrid asked, brow furrowed.

“Let’s find out, hmm?” The envelope was unsealed, and so Rodrigue slid the papers out and began scanning. His face betrayed nothing as he read, but when he looked up, he said, “_Yes. _Very much so.”

“What _is _it?” Sylvain asked. “Beyond a bougie security system?”

“Newest AW model,” Rodrigue said, “just came out last year. Sylvain, this is the sort of thing Valentín would put on his law firm, or that a bank would use. We don’t usually see it in homes.”

“So it’s overkill?” Felix pressed.

“A little bit,” Rodrigue said. “You won’t have need of the various cameras, I’d imagine, but one on the porch is probably a good idea. You can also connect it to door chimes, which I _would _recommend.”

“Can you call and talk to them?” Ingrid asked sheepishly. “Claude didn't really tell us much besides ‘ask for Balthus.’”

Rodrigue heaved a tired sigh. “Of course it’s Balthus.” Something else seemed to occur to him. “Wait, did Claude von Riegan just drop this off?”

Aegis nodded. “Said the whole bar pitched in,” Sylvain added.

Rodrigue’s eyebrows shot up, and so Ingrid asked, “Wait, how much money would that _be?”_

Rodrigue made a face. “What’s rent here, again?”

“Thirteen-hundred a month,” Felix offered.

“It’s half a year’s rent, easy.”

Sylvain’s controller clattered to the coffee table, and his character, once again, began dying onscreen. “There’s no way they raised that in one night, even with a bunch of drunks pitching in.”

“That’s a question for Claude, I think,” Rodrigue said.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Sylvain agreed, now finally coming over to the kitchen.

The screen read _YOU DIED _behind him.

The last people to come to Aegis’ home on that New Year’s morning were Annette and Mercedes. The former yelped at the sight of the hideous graffiti and dropped what she’d been carrying, and the latter had shut her eyes as if in pain and made the sign of the cross over herself.

“Crusher!” Sylvain said happily, grabbing the bulldog before he scampered too far.

“We thought you might like to borrow him for a bit,” Mercedes said. She set down the bag she was carrying on the kitchen counter. “We brought you some dog food, and his bowls, and some of his toys.”

“Will your landlord be mad?” Annette asked.

“I don’t really give a shit,” Felix said. “He told us to paint the fucking wall ourselves.”

“Bastard,” Mercedes said, and all of Aegis jumped.

“They’ll be by to install it on the fifth,” Rodrigue announced, walking back into the main room and putting his phone in his pocket. “You’ll just need to have the… oh, hello, Annette.”

“Hi, Rodrigue!” she said. “This is my roommate, Mercedes. Mercie, this is Felix’s dad, Rodrigue.”

“Hello!” said Mercedes, putting out a hand. “We came by to drop off Crusher.”

“Beg pardon?” Rodrigue paused mid-shake.

“He’s this good boy!” Sylvain announced, holding up one very disgruntled bulldog.

“Put him down before he pees on you,” Felix barked.

“He _shouldn’t,” _Mercedes said, “but you never know.”

“It’s kind of you to loan them your dog,” Rodrigue said to the girls.

“He’s a good guard dog,” Annette said, turning almost as red as her hair. “I thought he might help.”

Ingrid had come over to where Sylvain sat, and was now scratching Crusher behind the ears. “We just need to have what, Rodrigue?” she asked.

It took him a second. “Oh, the confirmation number. I wrote it on your paperwork.”

“We’re apparently getting a bougie security system, courtesy of the Golden Deer,” Felix said to Annette and Mercedes.

“Oh, how kind,” said Mercedes.

Annette laughed. “That’s _way _better than an old bulldog.”

“Not as cuddly, though.” As if to prove Sylvain’s point, Crusher headbutted him in the stomach while attempting to lick his face. Sylvain let off a startled “Oof!”

“We were just going to find lunch and get out of this house,” Rodrigue said. “Would you ladies care to join us?”

“Oh, we, um.” Annette was babbling.

“Yes,” Felix interrupted. “They would.”

“Will Crusher be okay by himself?” Sylvain asked.

Annette and Mercedes both nodded. “Probably a good idea to get him used to the place, anyway,” Mercedes said.

“Great,” said Rodrigue. “Let’s get you hungover kids some real food.”

A great uproar arose at the accusation, but nobody outright denied it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! Enjoy your stay :)


	23. The One Where Rhea Shows Up in a Bar

It felt weird, going back to class after their disastrous New Year’s, but Ingrid was nothing if not industrious. 

Most of the first week back was just logistics on their clinicals, anyway, and so for the first time in almost six years, Ingrid understood what an “easy” week of school felt like. She hardly even took notes; most of her logistical things had been squared away with her site already. Now it was just a matter of physically going to the pharmacy for a semester.

Her phone buzzed as she left her last class of the day, and she paused just outside the classroom door to answer it.

**Sylvain: **still on for tonight? 

Ingrid felt herself smile. She was still getting used to this shift in her relationship with Sylvain, but it was kind of nice to be checked in with, doted upon, _wanted. _No matter how much she tried to reassure Sylvain that no, she hadn’t forgotten, and yes, she still wanted to hang out, he would still pepper her with insecure texts throughout the day.

That part was a little exhausting.

**Ingrid: **of course

His response was immediate.

**Sylvain: **!!! :D :D :D [kissy emoji] [kissy emoji]

She’d never quite realized how accurate his emoji usage was until recently. That was probably exactly how he’d react when she walked in the door, too, and Felix would tell them to get a room if he caught them.

That part was a lot exhausting—not because she blamed Felix, but because he’d had the same reaction 6 years ago to a very different boy.

“Ingrid! I’m glad I caught you.”

Ingrid’s neck snapped up, and she wiped the smile off her face. “Can I help… oh, Dimitri.”

He was dressed like any other professor—dress slacks, a soft-looking blue sweater, unruly blond hair pulled back at the crown of his head—and for a moment, she didn’t recognize him. She was far more used to seeing him looking like a shaggy Viking who’d rolled up out of his cairn to play a show than a clean-cut professor who enjoyed breaking curves.

“I heard about the house.” His fingers twisted into the strap of his laptop bag. “Is everyone alright?”

Ingrid deflated, the weight of her exhaustion finally catching up to her. He sounded so much like _Dimitri, _her _friend_—like he had, six years ago, five years ago, four, three, two. “Yeah, we’re fine. Nobody was home when they did it.”

“That’s good.” His fingers twisted so hard into the strap, Ingrid almost reached out to stop him before he broke it.

Like she’d done so many times before, with so many different things.

“I’m glad,” he added, somewhat awkwardly.

It was sort of an odd thing to say, but Dimitri was also sort of an odd man. Ingrid cocked her head to study him, noting sweat pooling at his hairline and the nervous twisting of his fingers. 

She scowled. “Yeah, it was weird. They didn’t take a damn thing, but made sure to paint our living room.”

“That _is_ odd,” Dimitri agreed.

Twist. _Twist_.

She studied him again, unable to determine what was off. If she were Sylvain, she’d keep needling him until he backed himself into a corner. If she were Felix, she would have insulted him twice already and loaded a third in the barrel. If she were Annette, she would continue to brightly ask increasingly pointed questions until he caved.

But she was Ingrid, and so she took the most aggressive option, grabbing him by the collar, and yanking him backwards into the classroom. 

He yelped and tried to dislodge her hand, but was too late to stop her from slamming the door and putting her back to it.

She got up in his face, turning the full weight of the Galatea Glare on him. “What do you know, Dimitri?” 

Dimitri’s eyebrows lifted. “I know many things; it’s why I’m a professor.”

“What do you know about the _fucking_ gang sign painted in my house?” Ingrid released him with as mighty a shove as she could muster.

Dimitri shook himself like a dog, having barely moved. “Depends.” He cracked his neck, first one way, and then the other. “Will you hurt me if I tell you?”

Ingrid folded her arms across her chest. “I’m debating it.”

Dimitri gave a short, barking laugh, and Ingrid’s scowl deepened. “You know something?” Dimitri said abruptly. “I miss you, Ingrid.”

Her heart hurt, and so like all Faerghusi, she staunchly ignored it. “What. Do. You. _Know?”_

He threw back his head and laughed again, all silver and broken glass, and this time a chill ran down Ingrid’s spine. _That _didn’t sound like Dimitri at all. “I think,” he said, suddenly looking at her again with one piercing blue eye, “they were looking for me.”

Ingrid blinked a few times. Her and Sylvain’s rooms had been rifled through, but Felix’s had been untouched. All of their expensive things were still in place, but the kitchen drawers had been rummaged through. Whoever had done it hadn’t even left mud in the foyer, but they also hadn’t bothered to shut Sylvain’s closet door or shove Ingrid’s underbed bins back where they belonged.

And her room _had _been Dimitri’s, once.

“Let’s say I believe your bullshit,” Ingrid said. “Why is the Fhirdiad mob after you?”

Something unreadable filtered across Dimitri’s expression. “I wasn’t supposed to survive Duscur.”

Ingrid sighed. Sylvain had told her about the conspiracy theories he’d heard from Felix, but they seemed too much a stretch for _anyone_, least of all calm, calculated Dimitri Blaiddyd, to believe. “What do you mean, ‘supposed to’? It was random. Cops said so.”

“Cops say a lot of things.”

Ingrid sighed. “That also implies the mob was behind it.”

“They were.”

It… made an unfortunate amount of sense, the more Ingrid thought about it. Lambert Blaiddyd had been busting crime rings and putting mobsters behind bars long before he’d become governor, and Patricia Blaiddyd had had more connections than God. Dimitri had been a promising future politician, strong like his father, compassionate like his stepmother, until he dropped it all after the tragedy. 

Taking them all out in public like that would certainly send a message. But to whom? And for what purpose?

“Think about it, Ingrid.” Dimitri was just shy of begging. “_Please.” _

Was he right? Was this all connected, somehow? Was Glenn’s death more than an unfortunate accident? Had he saved something greater than one boy that night, foiled some evil plan?

Ingrid shut her eyes, and drew in a deep breath. 

_No_.

“As much as I want Glenn’s death to have some meaning to it,” she said sharply, opening her eyes and finding her mark, “you sound completely batshit right now. He saved your life; don’t spit on his grave.”

“_Ingrid!” _ Dimitri looked like she’d kicked him in the ribs. “I thought, you of all people, would understand.”

Now it felt like _she’d _been kicked in the ribs.

“Dima,” Ingrid said, as gently as her anger allowed, “you need to stop living in the past.”

Dimitri’s good eye widened, and when Ingrid removed herself from the door, he made no move to stop her.

Except—

“Didn’t you wonder why Glenn’s funeral was closed-casket?”

Ingrid’s hand froze on the door—“I didn’t ask.”—and she left.

-)

It pinged in her brain all through her drive home.

_Didn’t you wonder why Glenn’s funeral was closed-casket?_

Truth was, the question had never really crossed her mind. What with all the things she'd been dealing with at that time, with the news stories of gunfire and, at a time, a possible bomb, it simply hadn’t registered. She’d been to maybe three funerals in her entire life at that point, thought maybe death was always this impersonal.

_Was Glenn’s funeral even closed-casket? _Ingrid wondered as she fiddled her keys into the front door lock. Rodrigue had made sure to get the locks changed over before he went back to Fhirdiad, and the door still stuck, sometimes.

“Ingrid!” She was enveloped in a crushing hug a moment later. “Hi!”

She squeezed back as hard as she could, and the earthy musk of Sylvain’s cologne filled her lungs. “Hi, yourself.”  
  


The thing that took the most getting used to with this _thing _with Sylvain, though, was the kissing. The good-morning-how-are-you? kisses, the aww-really?-okay-good-night kisses, the just-because kisses, the lazy-presses-against-her-forehead-wrist-hand-what-have-you kisses. She’d always known Sylvain was more physically affectionate than Felix and herself combined, but this was something else entirely.

It felt nice, to press her lips against his and forget about the world for a moment. Forget about Dimitri and his conspiracies for a moment.

“Get a room,” Felix muttered from somewhere beyond them, and Ingrid gave a startled yelp.

“Can do!” Sylvain said cheerfully, tugging Ingrid’s backpack off her shoulders and pulling her along with him.

“Stop, stop!” she ordered, playfully batting his hands away.

Although she couldn’t see it, Felix rolled his eyes from the kitchen.

Sylvain pouted, and Ingrid suddenly felt the driving urge to _move. _They had been planning to watch a movie, but Ingrid was fairly certain she could not stay in this house a moment longer.

“Gas station run?” she asked.

Sylvain blinked a few times at her, but his smile never wavered. “Sure, okay. Felix, you want anything?”

“I’m good,” their guitarist called back, and so off they went.

Aegis’ neighborhood was quiet, for Garreg Mach Town, and the house itself had been a steal. Ingrid would be sorry to move out, come the end of the school year and her seemingly inevitable assignment somewhere far away from the life she’d built here.

For the second time that day, her heart hurt, and this time she shoved it down and sat on it.

“Ingrid?” Sylvain’s voice was light, his expression smooth. But she knew that tone, alright.

She sighed. There was no putting anything past him _or_ Felix. “I ran into Dimitri, on my way out of class.”

Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “Does that mean you don’t normally? That’s honestly impressive; Garreg Mach isn’t that big.”

She sighed again, this time harder, and elbowed Sylvain in the ribs.

“Ooof! Hey, uncalled for!”

“He was asking about the break in, asshat.”

Sylvain immediately sobered. “Oh, I see. That makes a lot more sense.”

They were quiet for a long moment, the world coming to stillness as night fell around them. January was cold in Garreg Mach Town, sure, but it was nothing like January in Northern Faerghus. They were dressed in mere sweatshirts and heavy boots and for a moment, he was twelve and she was ten, and they could have been walking from latchkey to the Fraldarius’ house after school, Glenn having chased Felix and Dimitri on ahead.

And oh, God, did it _hurt._

And it kept bouncing around her brain like a knock-off windows wallpaper. _Didn’t you wonder why Glenn’s funeral was closed-casket?_

“Do you remember Glenn’s funeral?” 

The question shattered the growing stillness, but Sylvain didn’t flinch. “Mostly, I remember it was the last time I saw Felix cry when he wasn’t mad, and the first time I saw you stiff-upper-lip your way through something,” he said. “Why?”

“Dimitri said something, and I haven’t been able to get it out of my head.” Ingrid drew in a shuddering breath. “Do you know why it was closed-casket?”

Sylvain froze, but then it passed over him like ripples in a pond. “I do.” He coughed, clearing his throat. “But, um, Ingrid.” He reached out to her, stopping them both in their tracks in the middle of the sidewalk. “You know we never told you to spare you, right?”

She grew very still in his arms. “I never asked you to.”

Sylvain sighed, frost reaching up to the darkening sky like an offering to a long-forgotten god. “That’s... fair.”

Silence stretched between them, during which Sylvain did his best to avoid the eye contact Ingrid was stubbornly trying to make.

“It’s because he got shot in the head,” Sylvain burst out. “They, um, had to clean it off Dimitri, and there wasn’t enough left to reconstruct.”

It was as though _she’d _been shot; white-hot pain lanced through her stomach. She both did and didn’t want to know, heard the question fall from her lips, “Had to clean _what _off Dimitri?”

Sylvain winced, and, still not looking at her, answered, “Grey matter.”

Bile rose in Ingrid’s throat. “Oh.”

“If it makes you feel any better,” Sylvain added hurriedly, “Fe didn’t tell me until pretty recently, either.”

“It doesn’t, but thanks.” She paused. “How drunk was he?”

“Hammered. It was the night before he graduated.”

Ingrid shut her eyes at the weight of the secret her friends had been carrying, and all the hurt she’d been shoving down that day refused to be shoved down anymore. It all came bursting to the surface, catching in her throat and curling her fingers into tight fists.

She hadn’t realized she was crying until Sylvain pulled her into a tight hug, running soothing fingers through the short hair she still hadn’t quite gotten used to and hushing her softly, deeply, in a voice she still wasn’t sure she deserved to hear.

“I got you, I got you,” he murmured, over, and over, and over again.

“Dimitri told me,” Ingrid managed to get out between sobs, “he missed me. And I didn’t know what to _do_. He barely sounds like himself, barely _looks _like himself, and I…” She half-sobbed, half-hiccupped, and the sound was so disgusting that she was surprised Sylvain didn’t immediately let go of her. “...I hate him and his conspiracy theories because dammit, they make _sense.”_

Sylvain pulled her more tightly to him, and held her against his chest. “I know,” he said softly, still carding his fingers through her hair, “I know.”

_He’s like a fucking boar, _Felix had said once, one night when the remainder of Aegis had been very drunk in the wake of Dimitri’s departure. _He’s huge, he’s wild, and he doesn't give a shit about anyone else._

_Get your head out of Game of Thrones, _Ingrid had told him, and then proceeded to throw a coaster at him.

But as with many things, Felix was not only unpleasant, but also right.

Sylvain pulled back just enough to get Ingrid to look at him. “It’s why he can’t let go.”

In the months before he’d left, it had been increasingly difficult to get three consecutive words out of Dimitri. He’d holed up in his room, turned off all the lights, and barely came out to eat or go to class, and even then, it was only with prodding. Ingrid had dragged him to the University's counselors more than once, only to run headlong into HIPAA and privacy policies and an increasingly reticent Dimitri.

She wondered if he were on medication, now. Sylvain sure as hell needed it, and Felix probably could, as well, much as he tried to downplay it. 

_Leave me alone_, Dimitri had always said when they’d knocked on his door or dragged him to class. _I don’t need your help._

By the time they reached the gas station, night had well and truly fallen, and Ingrid found herself reaching for the shitty gas station coffee despite herself. Sylvain was cheerfully layering a massive slurpee with every available flavor, and as Ingrid rounded the corner of the aisle to join him, a familiar label in the fridge caught her attention.

It was the nitro coffee stout Felix loved, and, without bothering to consider that she’d have to drag a six-pack all the way home, Ingrid found herself pulling one free.

-)

Sunday night at the Golden Deer was usually a quiet affair, but the night Claude had promised Arundel the stage proved the exception to the rule. First had come Aymr, staking their claim with righteous power. Then had come Thyrsus, with their attempt at quiet dignity. Then Aegis, pretending to be nothing they weren’t. Then Atrocity, a stain on the room, and then the Watchers, ensuring all eyes were on them.

“So on a scale of one to ten,” Felix asked as his band settled themselves around their favorite table in the corner, “how invested are we in this?”

Sylvain shrugged from across the table, taking a thoughtful sip of his Manhattan. “Could be fun.”

“I’m curious about this twist he wants to put on it,” Annette said.

“Me, too,” Ingrid said. She couldn’t place why, exactly, it settled poorly in her stomach.

“I’m betting it’ll be something stupid and time-consuming,” Felix prophesied.

Annette giggled, but Ingrid rolled her eyes. She opened her mouth to say something, but was inadvertently cut off by Sylvain’s, “Holy _shit_, I think Rhea Bishop just walked in the door.”

All of Aegis craned their necks, trying to get a good look at the white-clad figure striding towards the bar.

It was strange enough, seeing the President of Garreg Mach University amongst its halls. She carried a serious, somber demeanor that made most students feel like they’d done something wrong. It was stranger still, finding her in a dingy back ally bar in the middle of the university district, where she could not have been more out of place than Aegis at a Country music convention.

“Professor Rhea!” Hilda squeaked. “Oh my god, I never thought we’d see _you _here!”

“Be at peace, Hilda,” Rhea told her warmly. “I am simply passing through. Might I order a drink?”

Sylvain leaned over to Felix to hiss, “She_ drinks? _I thought she survived on fresh blood and the tears of virgins, or something.”

“Same,” Felix hissed back. 

Ingrid threw coasters at the both of them.

“She ordered red wine,” Annette relayed, her voice hushed. “Classy.”

“It’s four-buck-chuck,” Sylvain pointed out. “How classy can it be?”

“Also, if she survived on tears and blood,” Annette added, “wouldn’t she have to drink those, anyway?”

The tapping of a microphone brought everyone’s attention sharply toward the stage and made most of the singers in the room wince. “Don’t tap the mic, Claude!” Edelgard shouted up at him.

“It’s terrible for it!” Dorothea added from the Watchers’ table.

He did it again, twice, just to be ornery, and then cleared his throat. “Well, everyone, welcome to your favorite dive bar. And I see _you, _back there, Professor Rhea!” He raised an imaginary glass towards where the woman sat primly at the bar, and she elegantly raised her wineglass back. “Anyway, y’all know why you’re here, so please allow me to call up the man who needs no introduction: Volkhard von Arundel.”

Polite applause ushered the man of the hour to the stage.

He looked slimy as ever, dressed in a white suit with slicked-back brown hair. “Thank you, Claude.” He turned the weight of his gaze on the bar, and Ingrid felt a genuine shiver run down her spine. There was something deeply wrong with his eyes—not in a physical way, but an emotional one. They were so _cold. _ “And thank _you all_ for lending me an ear, tonight. As I’m sure you’ve heard, I have some exciting news to share with you all.”

He fiddled with the microphone for a moment, and then pulled it free and headed back down the stage stairs. Ingrid felt her stomach sink through her boots as he approached the tables, cool and calm as you please.

“As I’m sure most of you know, I have been organizing the Carnage Festival for Garreg Mach University for longer than I’d care to admit.” He gave a self-depreciating chuckle, and Ingrid didn’t miss how Annette and Sylvain shifted in discomfort across the table, too. “But this year, we’d like to try something a little different.” 

Chatter ran through the crowd, and Arundel hastened to add, “Rest assured, we will still hold Carnage in the fall! But, we also wanted to try something new—a summer festival in Fhirdiad to rival EnbarrAlive.”

The chattering stopped, and a slow smile began to spread across Arundel’s sharp face. EnbarrAlive was the biggest rock music festival in the tristate area, drawing in big names, even bigger crowds, and sprawling across three whole days. Felix, Ingrid, Dimitri, and Sylvain had desperately wanted to go as teenagers, and finally bit the bullet their junior year of college. Sunburn, mild dehydration, and cramming four bodies into a borrowed three-man-tent for three nights had been totally worth it to see Thunderbrand live, before they’d collapsed.

“Ailell, Valley of Torment, will, God willing... “ Arundel paused here to make the sign of the cross, and Ingrid found the whole thing rather rehearsed. “...be a three-day festival at the old Fhirdiad Arena this July. Those details are still being sorted out; _but, _the reason I’ve come to speak with my Carnage regulars tonight is thus:

“My partners and I have a vision of Ailell, Valley of Torment, as a celebration of collaboration and local talent. We want to have portions of sets dedicated to just drawing members from other bands and striking up a new sound.”

The chatter went up again, and Felix deadpanned to his band, “What did I say? Stupid and time-consuming.”

“I think it sounds like fun,” Annette said. 

“It sounds like a group project,” Sylvain groaned, putting his head in his hands and thumping it on the sticky bar table.

“And so,” Arundel continued over the chatter, “should you choose to submit an audition demo, we ask one of the tracks change out at least two of your members.”

“Fuck,” said Felix. He was not alone.

“We recognize this is an endeavor,” Arundel added, “which is why I’m giving everyone ample leadroom to work with. We’re also offering a discount on collaboration recording at Saint Cichol Studios, if you mention it’s for your Ailell Audition.”

Over at Atrocity’s table, Dimitri’s head snapped up, and Byleth reached over to soothe their unpredictable lead singer before he did something stupid.

“Audition tracks are due by the end of February,” Arundel continued. “I’ve left the details of the whats and wheres with Claude, who has graciously agreed to create a listserv for you all.” 

From where he sat at the bar, Claude gave a merry wave, and then hollered, “Come leave your email up at the bar with Hilda, if you’re interested!”

“I thank you again for your time,” Arundel said, heading back up the stage stairs again. “I will be around for another drink or so, if anyone has any questions. Best of luck to you, my dear local talent, and we hope to see you at Ailell, Valley of Torment, this summer!”

As Arundel stepped down again, this time sans microphone, the bands erupted into chatter.

“So...?” Annette put forward.

“This is a fucking group project,” Felix muttered, folding his arms across his chest and staring into his beer.

Despite the man running it, “I think it sounds like fun,” Ingrid said. “I’d love to play at the Fhirdiad Arena, and I think collaborating could be fun.”

Annette immediately looked relieved. “Oh! Me too!”

“‘EY, ARUNDEL!” shouted Caspar from Aymr’s table. “ARE WE GETTING PAID FOR THIS?”

Eyebrows went up the room over, and even Professor Rhea looked to Arundel expectantly.

“Of course,” said Arundel confusedly over the lip of a dirty martini. “Did I not mention that?”

“COOL, THANKS!” Caspar hollered, turning back to his band.

“This… is looking less terrible,” Sylvain said cautiously, raising his head again and eyeing Felix warily.

“Okay, say we do this,” Felix barked, “who the hell do you think we can borrow for what sounds like several songs?”

“I’m sure I could convince Hubert to play piano,” Annette piped up.

Felix stared at her in abject confusion for a moment, and then something seemed to click in his brain. “Oh, right, you guys are both music majors.”

“You know who fucking owes us one?” Ingrid said, a touch vindictively. “Dima.”

“Fuck no,” Felix said immediately.

Annette’s brow scrunched up over her cocktail. “Who?” 

“Dimitri,” Sylvain told her. “His family’s Russian; that’s how you shorten his name.”

“Oh, neat,” said Annette. “And well, that would be up to you guys.”

“_Fuck, _no,” Felix said again, this time louder.

“Petra would, I bet,” Sylvain said. “Since we were all on the fencing team together.”

“That’s a good call,” Ingrid said. “Maybe we could trade her for one of us to play with Aymr?”

“Wait a damn minute,” Felix said, “we haven’t agreed on this.”

_“Felix Hugo Fraldarius,” _Ingrid said, “if you tell me you don’t want to play this festival, God strike you down for lying!”

Felix opened his mouth, then snapped it shut again.

“I _thought _so,” Ingrid huffed.

“So… we’re in?” Sylvain pressed.

Annette immediately nodded, and Ingrid followed suit a moment later. Felix held up one very grumpy finger, drained rest of his beer, and then slammed it back down and said, “I _guess.” _

“Great!” Sylvain was on his feet. “I’ll go put our emails in with Hilda.”

He slipped between clusters of people and spilled drinks as he made his way to the bar. Hilda was busy with another patron, and so Sylvain thought nothing of leaning his hip against the bar to wait. 

That is, until the smooth, unreasonably calm voice of Professor Rhea said, “Sylvain Gautier, isn’t it?”

The only reason Sylvain didn’t wince was years of practice. “Oh, hi professor!” He put on his most charming smile. “Fancy running into you here.”

“I found myself in the neighborhood,” Rhea said, taking a sip of wine.

The Golden Deer wasn’t exactly a student bar, but it wasn’t _not _a student bar. Sylvain was trying to sort out a polite way of asking ‘what the hell are you doing here?’, but was spared by the untimely arrival of Arundel himself.

“President Bishop!” he said, clapping her shoulder. “It’s been too long!”

“Volkhard von Arundel,” Professor Rhea said slowly, as though chewing each syllable and spitting it out again, “it has indeed.”

“Would Garreg Mach be interested in sponsoring Ailell, Valley of Torment?” Arundel asked. “You’ve always been ever so gracious to work with.”

“I’m afraid Carnage is a special case,” Rhea said. “It is, after all, for Charity.”

Sylvain couldn’t put his finger on it, but something in Rhea’s tone was leaving a lot more unspoken. He strained to hear more as chatter rose in the bar.

“Sylvain!” Hilda sharply brought the drummer’s attention forward. “Need a refill?”

“Where are we putting emails?” Sylvain asked. 

“Oh! Here.” Hilda handed him a clipboard already half full of names and emails. Sylvain took a moment to write his, Felix, Ingrid, and Annette’s emails as neatly as he possibly could (only pausing a few times to check his friends’ emails in his phone). 

“Oh, and everyone?” Claude said into the mic onstage again. “The Golden Deer will be sponsoring Ailell, so I’m offering up Sunday nights at the bar as rehearsal space and time for you poor, collaborating souls. So long as you order something.” He grinned, and his teeth practically glinted in the dim barroom light. “Best of luck, my friends.”


	24. The One Where Dimitri Loses His Phone

Felix had known, pretty much from the time Annette first joined Aegis, that she was clumsy. Sometimes, it was the cute, who-put-that-THING-where-I-can-trip-over-it variety, and sometimes, it was more like the hold-still-before-you-hurt-yourself variety.

But all of that paled in comparison to what Annette was like in the kitchen.

She was a whirlwind of movement, flitting here and there as she stirred pots on the stove and mixed things on the counter. Already, she had somehow managed to get pasta sauce both on the stove fan and in her hair, and Felix was fairly certain the oil warming through in the skillet was starting to smoke.

The final straw came when she reached to add olive oil to the pasta water. Felix caught her wrist mid-movement and said, flatly, “What are you doing?”

Annette giggled nervously. “Cooking us dinner?”

“You don’t add oil to pasta water; you add salt.” He released her hand. “Who taught you how to cook?”

“Um,” Annette said, her face growing redder by the second, “the internet, mostly?”

His annoyance faltered, and Felix gently nudged her away from the stove. “I’ll take care of this; you siddown.”

“Feeelix,” Annette wheedled, “I invited _you _over.”

He shrugged. “I’m just looking out for your apartment.”

Annette harrumphed and leaned against the fridge, watching as Felix immediately set about turning knobs and stirring salt into the pasta pot. Satisfied, he then turned to the corner of the countertop they were using as a staging area to bread the chicken. He fiddled with a few things before expertly breading two chicken breasts and dropping them into the sizzling pan.

The warm smell of pan-frying chicken filled Annette’s tiny kitchen, and she couldn’t stop herself smiling. Really, who would have guessed that Felix “Fuck You” Fraldarius was actually a half-decent cook?

“So what did you end up getting Ingrid for her birthday?” Annette asked.

“Season three of _Vikings _and the house to herself.”

Annette giggled. “And Sylvain?”

“God, they’re the _worst,” _Felix groaned. “They’re all over each other and Sylvain doesn’t give a shit if they’re out in the open or not.”

“Well, _I’m _happy for them.”

“I _guess.” _He banged shut the spice cabinet door with more force than was necessary. “I could just do without feeling like a third wheel in my own goddamn house.”

“I get that,” Annette said, and then paused. “Are you sure it needs that much garlic?”

Unperturbed, Felix dumped more garlic powder into the sauce. “It probably needs more, to be honest. And basil. Do you guys even _have_ basil?”

“_Yes!” _Annette said indignantly, going over to the spice cabinet to dig through it herself. “It’s right here, in the funny little fake glass jar.”

“Ah,” Felix deadpanned. “My bad. How could I not notice the tiny, unlabeled glass jar, buried beneath several other tiny, unlabeled glass jars?”

“We reuse them!” Annette thumped the jar of basil into his chest. 

Felix took it. “You could also just refill them with the same thing and save yourself the headache.”

Annette blinked a few times, and then, not to be defeated, announced, “Well, _I _know what’s what.”

“Great,” said Felix. “Then hand me the oregano, would you?”

“The sauce already _has _spices in it!” Annette said, although she dutifully went back to the cupboard.

“Not enough,” Felix said. “It’s from a _jar.”_

Annette signed, found the tiny, unlabeled jar of oregano in the back of their spice cabinet, and then handed it over. “You’re so bougie.”

“Fixing jarred pasta sauce _isn’t_ bougie. It just means I have taste buds.”

Annette giggled, and leaned against the fridge again to watch Felix work. It was really something to watch him focus, to watch all the lines in his face draw in and his vision narrow. He stopped paying attention to his surroundings to pay full attention to whatever task was before him, and it was one of the only times Annette ever saw him unguarded. 

And he was so_ disgustingly _handsome that way. 

“What?” Felix barked. 

“What, what?” asked Annette. 

“You’re staring.”

“I am not staring!” She reddened anyway. 

“Yeah, whatever,” said Felix, a touch affectionately. “Go set the table, would you?”

-)

After dinner they settled in to watch some Disney movie Annette had been meaning to see for ages and Felix had had zero desire to see for the same amount of time. But the art style was cute and Annette was enthralled, so he let it ride. 

Unfortunately, without a decent movie to focus on, Felix was left with his anxious thoughts. Shouldn't he hold her hand, or something? That seemed like the sort of thing couples did while watching movies. He would love to be ignoring the movie entirely and making out instead, but it seemed like Annette actually wanted to see this one, so he politely refrained. 

Should he grab a blanket, or something? She was always complaining about how cold it was in Aegis’ basement, although she accepted that it was for the good of the equipment. But then, this was _her_ apartment, and Felix wasn’t even sure where they kept their spare blankets. 

Should he…?

A quiet thump against his arm interrupted his anxious spiral. He glanced down, startled, only to find that the ever-energetic Annette had fallen asleep and was snoring softly. 

His heart seized at the sight. 

“Take better care of yourself, eh?” He muttered, extricating his trapped arm and putting it around her. 

She snuggled closer to his chest, murmuring something in her sleep, and his heart did that funny little seizing thing again. 

He settled in to watch the end of the movie, which made no sense having missed the first half, and was relieved when Netflix flipped over to another cartoon-y thing that was at least marginally more entertaining. Annette continued to snore softly, ignoring when her phone buzzed in her pocket and when the loud title sequence came on. 

Mercedes came home at some point, waving to Felix as she passed, and then stopping in her tracks at the sight of Annette. She gave a large sigh, and went about finding a blanket. 

“Does this happen a lot?” Felix asked her quietly. 

“All the time,” Mercedes said without pausing her search. “I don’t think she’s ever finished a movie on that couch.”

“It _is _comfy,” Felix said. 

Mercedes beamed. “It used to be my brother’s; he didn’t want to take it when he moved to Enbarr last year.”

“That’s convenient,” Felix agreed, although the concept made him wince a little. 

Mercedes smiled, and then set about tucking Annette into Felix’s side with a riotously bright fleece blanket. The snoring stopped for a moment, and then resumed again, louder. 

“What time is it?” Felix asked. 

Mercedes checked her phone, and then announced, “Eleven-thirty ish.”

Felix glanced down to Annette. He had work in the morning and a drive home to do, but she looked so endearing nestled up against him like this, and she was so small and so warm and fitted so perfectly against him.

“Alright,” Felix muttered to himself, “one more episode.”

Although he couldn’t see it, Mercedes smiled to herself as she quietly made tea in the kitchen. It was good to see him openly care for Annette, without giving a damn as to who saw.

She had expected no less.

-)

Earlier that same evening, and across town, a very different movie night was happening in the joint Blaiddyd/Molinaro residence. 

“Dimitri,” Dedue said, poking his head into his roommate’s mess of a room, “I am heading out.”

Dimitri glanced up from his game of _Dark Souls. _“Have fun, drive safe. Tell Mercedes I say hello.”

“I will.” Dedue paused and cocked his head at the screen. “Are you still working on the Abyss Watchers?”

Dimitri made an annoyed noise. “Yes, and they _continue _to elude me.”

Dedue gave a low chuckle. “You will defeat them. I am sure of it.”

Dimitri gave a lopsided little smile. “That makes one of us.”

He waited until he heard the door shut and lock (and he died again), and then went to make a phone call.

Half an hour later, it was a mildly bewildered Hubert Von Vestra who stood in his kitchen, drawing darkness towards him the way other people drew in air. “This is cleaner than I expected,” he said. 

“You can thank Dedue for that,” Dimitri said, pouring each of them a coffee into chipped, blue mugs.

Hubert studied Dimitri’s movements for a moment, and then said, “Well, shall we?”

Dimitri handed over one of the mugs, which Hubert’s long, spindly fingers immediately wrapped around. 

“Let’s.”

He settled into their beat-up, plaid couch as Hubert fiddled with the cords behind his TV. “Do you have a... Ah.” Hubert cut himself off. “Found it.”

He straightened up a moment later, the screen flickering to life beside him a mirror image of what his laptop displayed. Hubert headed back over to the couch, bringing his laptop with him. 

“So,” he said, pulling up a PowerPoint, “here’s what we know.” 

The first slide was a picture of Edelgard’s late father, Ionius von Hresvelg, better known as the crime lord Emperor. “Fifteen years ago, October the eighteenth. Count, Beethoven, Hierophant, Marquis, Rook, and Regent attempt to overthrow Emperor. It doesn't exactly work, but he’s left with a broken mafia and even more backbiting.”

Then came a collage of obituaries and family photos. “Thirteen through eight years ago. Greta, Clarissa, Lukas, Barrett, Johanna, Frederick, Henri, and Roland von Hresvelg are all lost to tragic seemingly-accidents, illness, and mob infighting.” Hubert ticked off each of Edelgard’s dead siblings on his fingers. “Markus died in an actual car accident years prior at this point, and Arundel and his sister flee to Fhirdiad to avoid Ionius—taking Edelgard with them.”

“And that’s where they met my father,” Dimitri said quietly.

Hubert nodded, his eyes fixed on his screen, where a family photo of Dimitri’s was now displayed. “Ten years ago, January fourteenth. Anselma von Arundel, going by her middle name, Patricia, weds Lambert Blaiddyd in a private ceremony in Fhirdiad.”

People were always telling Dimitri he took after his father, whether they meant it as a compliment or not, and every time Dimitri saw him in a photo, their stark similarities made his chest hurt. They had the same shaggy blond hair, the same stature, the same face wrinkles when they smiled. His stepmother was smiling up at his father in genuine joy, and teenage Dimitri could be seen nudging teenage Edelgard in the corner of the shot. They had both been happy for their parents, that day, pointing out things that seemed like good omens.

They had both been horribly wrong.

Then Hubert queued up a photo of Ionius and Arundel, at a seemingly friendly lunch on some patio somewhere. “Eight years ago, June fourth. Ionius himself comes to Fhirdiad to bring Edelgard home.” Then came a newspaper clipping. “The resultant gunfight killed seven people, but brought Empress home.” Hubert’s voice always grew thick during this slide, and Dimitri always politely pretended he didn’t hear.

Then came the Out of the Dark Logo. “July eighth, six years ago. Arundel stops donating to the church, and instead that money starts going towards Out of the Dark.”

Then came the remains of the Duscur nightclub; Dimitri winced at the image. “July thirtieth, six years ago. The Tragedy of Duscur happens.” Hubert never dwelled on this slide, for which Dimitri would be eternally grateful.

Next was a photo and obituary for Edelgard’s oldest sister, who had the same snowy hair and violet eyes as Aymr’s singer. “August fourteenth, six years ago. Corinne von Hresvelg is found dead in her apartment with a bullet in her brain and the Fhirdiad mob lion on the wall. She was Edelgard’s last living sibling, known in the Enbarr mafia as Duchessa.”

Next, a photo of Cornelia Arnim, beaming as she sat in the Fhirdiad governor’s chair. “November eleventh, six years ago. Cornelia is elected governor, and would be elected again this past year. She comes out in public support of both the Lambert Project and Out of The Dark. Guns in Fhirdiad become increasingly difficult to come by, and Out of the Dark grows.”

Then came a video of Sylvain’s father in court, his face red and his gestures impassioned. “Asshole,” Dimitri spat.

Hubert made a face, but continued. “February fifteenth, five years ago. Valentín Gautier wins the very public Fhirdiad vs. von Arundel case, and Arundel walks away a free man.”

Dimitri remembered that case; it had been all over the news. Arundel had supposedly been caught in a medical supply scheme, but the court had never found enough evidence to convict—in large part, it was rumored, due to Valentín.

Then came the slide that always hurt Dimitri’s heart. “October eighteenth, five years ago. Rumors spread that not everyone died in the Tragedy of Duscur who should have.” The photo was a grainy one of a man that looked uncomfortably like a Fraldarius, too old to be Felix and too young to be Rodrigue or Piers, as he walked down a boardwalk in Deirdru.

“Any more news on this part?” Dimitri asked.

“Not yet,” Hubert said. “I have my team on it, but Deirdru isn’t our territory.”

Dimitri sighed into his mug. “I still say we should ask Claude.”

“I’ve told you why we can’t.” Hubert’s irritation was crisp and clipped. “He can’t be trusted.”

“He volunteered to do Ailell,” Dimitri pointed out.

“It makes him money,” Hubert argued. “He would have agreed to it, regardless.” He switched to the next slide, a newspaper clipping of Kurt von Hevring, better known as Hierophant. “Four years ago, sometime in fall. Hierophant left Enbarr for the sunny shores of Deirdru. Which reminds me.” 

Finally, Hubert looked away from the TV screen to glance at Dimitri. “We found him. Edelgard plans to take care of him the week after next.”

Dimitri knew what _that _meant. “Tell her I have a conference there this weekend; I’ll take care of it.”

Hubert got up to pour himself more coffee. “That’s the excuse we used last time.”

“Oh, is it?” Dimitri took a thoughtful sip of coffee. He genuinely hadn’t remembered.

“Indeed,” said Hubert, “and she was suspicious _then.”_

“Umm.” Dimitri racked his brains, coming up with nothing useful. Professors only went so many places.

Hubert heaved a sigh from the kitchen. “Why don’t we say you went to visit Marianne?”

Dimitri immediately flushed crimson. “Then she’ll be looking for _photos_ I post!”

“Then tell _Marianne_ you’re in town for a conference,” Hubert said, sounding very much annoyed, “and invite her to lunch.”

“Um,” said Dimitri as Hubert sat back down. “Maybe.”

Hubert leveled him in a frightening glare, and Dimitri quickly set about searching for his phone. “What else is there?” he asked.

A photo of Aegis’ home popped up next. “June fifteenth, two years ago. You move out of your, Sylvain, and Felix’s house after the incident at Remire, and move back to Fhirdiad to join the police academy. You last six months for asking the wrong questions.”

“The right questions of the wrong people,” Dimitri pointed out.

Hubert shrugged. “I spread the word you’re still living there, and no one’s the wiser.”

Next, he queued up a somewhat grainy image of a red-haired man leaving the county jail. “July fifth, last year. Miklan Gautier was released from prison ten years early, supposedly for good behavior.”

“There’s no fucking way,” Dimitri said as he stood and began searching the couch cushions for his phone. 

“It wasn’t,” Hubert confirmed. “Valentín pulled some strings and got him released early.”

Dimitri made a disgusted noise and said something undoubtedly offensive in Russian.

“Thanksgiving, last year,” Hubert said, and the next slide was a photo of Felix’s favorite sushi place that Dimitri had introduced him to. “You learn that Felix and Annette ran into Miklan at Tokyo Inn. He was there with Arundel, and, per Felix, has a huge scar across his face, wears an extravagant amount of jewelry, and hasn’t dyed his Gautier-red hair. In doing some digging, I learn he’s actively using Valentín’s connections to get himself entrenched in the mob.”

The next slide was of Emperor’s obit, next to a picture of a very severe-looking, black-haired man that looked very much like Hubert. “December seventeenth, last year. Emperor dies, and names Edelgard the next head of the family. You learn that Out of the Dark has been operating in Enbarr for around ten years, and that my father is the one who had been ‘taking care’ of the von Hresvelg children, one by one.” 

Hubert’s jaw twitched as he spoke, and Dimitri took the moment to study Einhard von Vestra, better known as Marquis. He had the same sharp cheekbones and dark hair as his son, but was somehow even sallower.

“And you didn’t find anything that night, correct?” Hubert said.

“Correct,” Dimitri confirmed, now abandoning the couch entire to search the kitchen. “But I didn’t exactly expect him to leave treason lying around.”

“Boxing day, last year,” Hubert continued, and the slides were suddenly blank. “You tell off Valentín Gautier over the phone on Sylvain’s behalf.”

“And he fuckin’ deserved it,” Dimitri said, hands on his hips as he surveyed his apartment.

“New Year’s Eve, two weeks ago,” Hubert added. “Felix arrives home to discover the mob has broken into their home, taken nothing, and left a message on the wall: ‘This. Means. War,’ plus the lion. Which brings us to the present day.”

“And no more answers,” Dimitri huffed. “Are you certain Edelgard can’t remember anything else?”

“Until I find a therapist on the mob payroll,” Hubert said, “that’s all we have.”

Edelgard remembered a lot of doctor’s visits as a child, spending a lot of time in waiting rooms and hospital beds. She’d been a sickly child, her father had said when Dimitri had asked. It was a miracle she’d made it to her fifth birthday.

It sang warning bells in Dimitri’s ears, and his instincts were never wrong. “And, naturally, both her parents are now dead.”

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Hubert said dryly.

“Entirely too much so.” Dimitri was rooting through his kitchen cabinets, now. Had he left it somewhere while making dinner? “So, we have you, me, Edelgard, and Death Knight against the Fhirdiad mob."

"Essentially," Hubert said, "yes."

"Incredible." Dimitri sighed. "So what’s your theory on why they’re targeting Aegis?”

Hubert took a long sip of coffee. “I want to hear yours, first.”

“I don’t think they’re after Aegis, at all,” Dimitri said. “I think they’re looking for me, because of what I did to Axe-head and what I said to their favorite lawyer.”

“Mm, it’s possible,” said Hubert. “You aren’t exactly subtle.”

“_You’re _the subtle one,” Dimitri pointed out.

Hubert made a conciliatory gesture. “It also isn’t enough.”

“So what would you add?” And dammit, where was his _phone?_

“This is personal for Miklan Gautier,” Hubert pointed out, “but he isn’t important enough to cause all this trouble on his own. Someone is behind him.”

“Sure,” said Dimitri, “but who?”

“If I knew _that,” _Hubert said testily, “I would have sent you to deal with it a while ago.”

“My bet is Arundel,” Dimitri said.

“Mine is my father,” Hubert replied.

“That’s… also a good one.” Dimitri paused, now back out in his living room. “Also, Hubert, could you call my phone? I can’t seem to find it, and I need to text Marianne before I forget.”

Hubert rolled his eyes but did as asked, and the two men listened hard for the telltale buzzing. It came, after a moment or two, from down the hallway, and Dimitri immediately bolted towards his room.

Hubert waited patiently on the couch for a brief moment, before he heard Dimitri’s low “_Fuck!” _

Hubert was on his feet in an instant, yanking the cords from the TV and snapping his laptop shut. “Dimitri, what’s happened?”

“Dedue will be back any second,” Dimitri called from the hallway. “Break down your laptop and… oh.” He pulled up short when he saw the offending article tucked under Hubert’s arm.

“How long do you think I’ve been doing this?” Hubert hissed, shoving his laptop into Dimitri’s hands. “Now queue up _Dark Souls _and get comfortable.”

Hubert made it to the living room for their mugs and then back to Dimitri’s desk chair just in time for keys to begin fitting into the front door lock. He struggled to steady his heartbeat as he pulled up reddit and settled in, kicking the cords under Dimitri's bed as he did so.

Dimitri had just managed to load into Farron before Dedue announced, “Hello!” from the living room.

“Hey, Dedue!” Dimitri called back, sounding calm as you please. “Hubert’s here!”

“Hello, Hubert!” Dedue added politely.

“Hello!” Hubert called back.

When Dedue appeared in Dimitri’s doorway a few minutes later, he was carrying a large mug of tea with him. “How has your evening been?” he asked.

“You’re looking at it,” Dimitri told him.

Dedue checked his roommate’s progress. “Still with this boss?”

Dimitri groaned and shut his eyes. “Just don’t.”

“The internet told him to parry more often and/or wait for the end of combos,” Hubert said, having quickly googled it, “but so far, he’s been having none of it.”

_“Thank you, _Hubert,” Dimitri bit off. “Your opinion is noted.”

Dedue chucked, and the sound warmed even Hubert’s tired bones. “Have some confidence; Dimitri has not failed yet.”

“Only found four hundred ways it doesn’t work,” Dimitri huffed. “How was your night, Dedue?”

“Lovely,” he said. “The movie was good. And Mercedes says hello, as well.”

“What did you go see?” Hubert asked politely.

“I forget the name,” Dedue admitted. “But it was about a mobster’s son who was forced to choose between the law and his family.”

Silence fell.

“That sounds tragic,” Dimitri ventured.

“Ah,” said Dedue, “it certainly was.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonight's chapter is brought to you by "Instruments of Cyanide," by Dagames.


	25. The One Where the Bands Get Crackin'

“Cry alone, I’ve gone away,” Dimitri sang at the front of Thyrsus, “No more lies, no more pain.” He paused, mid-song, to add, “You know, I don’t think this is meant for me.”

“Too weepy!” confirmed Caspar from Aymr’s table.

Lysithea took her hands from the keyboard and planted them on her hips. “That’s what _I _said when we started!” 

“Nobody wants to sing your tragic A7X song, Lorenz!” Leonie called from behind the drumkit.

“That isn’t it,” Dimitri said, brow furrowed. “I just can’t sell it.”

“Ugh,” said Lorenz, hiking up the stairs to the stage again. “I thought for sure we had it this time.”

“Oh, no,” said Leonie dryly, “now we have to play something _I’ve _been saying we play.”

“We’re not doing the _Rains of Castamere!” _Lorenz argued. 

“Why are you…!” Leonie began, only to be cut off when Dimitri leaned into the mic to growl, “Who, are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?”

Ferdinand, who had also been roped into testing playing with Thyrsus, stuck a few power chords until he found the right ones. “Try again, Dimitri,” he said. 

They did, with rocketing power chords behind Dimitri’s fire, and Leonie’s pounding drumbeat keeping time. 

“Oooo,” said Annette from Aegis’ table, “I like _that.”_

“This song is supposed to be melancholy,” Felix muttered. 

“Like you mind,” Ingrid teased, tugging on his ponytail as she passed. 

Felix swatted at her hand and took another sip of his beer. 

“So, who do we wanna ask to play what?” Sylvain asked. 

Felix’s brow furrowed. “Weren’t we asking Petra?”

“That’s only one,” Sylvain said, “we need two.”

“Plus you need to, y’know, _ask _her,” Ingrid added. 

Felix heaved an enormous sigh, and thumped his head into the tabletop. “I hate group projects,” he muttered into the fake wood.

“I’ll go ask her,” Sylvain said, already getting up from his chair. “Maybe Caspar will volunteer, or something.”

“Caspar’s already been roped into playing with like four different bands,” Felix said without moving. “I doubt he’ll volunteer.”

But when Sylvain approached Aymr’s table with the ask, it wasn’t Caspar who turned them down, but Petra.

“I would be loving to!” She said sincerely. “But I am already promising Atrocity and The Watchers, and I am not confident in learning a third new song well.”

“That’s fair,” Sylvain said, and before the whole sentence was even out of his mouth, Caspar said, “What the hell, I’ll do it! What song are you thinking?”

“Would Felix be willing to play with us?” Edelgard interrupted. “I’ve been wanting to try something more classic rock, and he has the _perfect _tone.”

Sylvain blinked a few times, Caspar’s question forgotten. “Um. You could ask him?”

Edelgard nodded and got to her feet. She wasn’t wearing her insanely high, heeled buckle boots today, and so she barely came up to Sylvain’s chest. He would never understand how such a powerful voice came from such a small woman—but then, that was exactly how Annette was, too.

Metalhead women sure didn’t fuck around.

“Felix,” Edelgard called out as she approached Aegis’ table, “a word?”

He raised his head from the table, took a gulp of beer, and said, “I guess.”

Edelgard waited for him to stand, and when he didn’t, awkwardly came around to the side of their table. “I’ve been wanting to cover Thunderbrand for a while,” she said. “Your tone would be perfect—would you play with us?”

Annette braced for an explosion, but it never came.

“Which era?” Felix asked instead, a calculating gleam in his eyes.

“_Dedication to the Cause, _probably,” Edelgard said. “But maybe _Nemesis.”_

“Alright,” said Felix after a moment. “As long as you don’t want to play ‘Dinner for One.’”

Edelgard grinned. “Deal. Now c’mon!” 

“Ey, ey, ey!” Felix protested as Edelgard tugged on his arm.

“We need to _play, _you know,” Edelgard argued. 

“Let go!” Felix barked.

Stunned, Edelgard did so.

Felix tugged the sleeve of Glenn’s jacket back into place, and then got to his feet. “I can move myself, thanks,” he snapped.

“Noted,” was all Edelgard said.

“I expected him to blow up at her for asking,” Annette said to Ingrid as Felix and Edelgard disappeared towards Aymr’s table.

“He doesn't just blow up to blow up,” Ingrid said. “He _has_ reasons.” She dropped her voice to a conspiratorial whisper to add, “Plus, he _loves _Thunderbrand. Thunderstrike Cassandra was his _idol _growing up, second to only…” A shadow came over her face, and her voice dropped even further as she added, “...Glenn.”

“Alright, Thyrsus,” Edelgard called from the pit, “mind if we have a turn?”

“Please do!” Leonie called back, throwing her sticks down and raising her hands up in surrender.

“Hey now!” Lorenz said. “That should be a band decision!”

Lysithea leaned into her mic. “Please do.”

“Be our guest,” Dimitri called, settling the microphone back into its stand.

Ferdinand, who was already halfway down the stairs, politely added, “All yours!”

Lorenz gave an annoyed huff, but followed suit.

As Aymr-plus-Felix geared up, Sylvain rejoined his band. “Well, so we have Caspar,” he announced, “but we need someone else, too.”

They cast a critical eye over everyone in the Golden Deer. Most everyone who had seen Arundel’s elevator pitch was here again tonight, and the jockeying for people and songs had already begun. 

“Wouldn’t it make more sense for two bands to learn the same new song, and then swap members to record?” Annette piped up. “Arundel didn’t say every band needed to audition with a different song.”

“Oh, that’s a good loophole,” Sylvain said. “Let me go see if Dorothea’s game.”

Across the room, Dorothea was chatting with Atrocity. “...And I think it would really be a nice gesture,” she was saying. “How about it, Dima?”

Something unreadable flashed in Dimitri’s expression. “I already made that mistake once, Dorothea.”

“But Black Iron Spurs was _your _band!” Dorothea protested.

Dimitri shook his head. “Black Iron Spurs was _Glenn Fraldarius’_ band.”

“Are you covering Black Iron Spurs, Thea?” Sylvain asked, inserting himself into the conversation.

Dorothea gave a magnificent fake pout. “I am _trying _to convince our dear Dima to sing for us if we do.”

“It’s not my place,” Dimitri insisted. “I learned that lesson.”

Onstage, Aymr-plus-one struck up the opening to “Devil’s Details,” and Felix, brow furrowed and reading tabs off the communal iPad, still shredded his way through the opening solo and into the riff with only a few sour notes.

“Oh my god, that’s _right!” _Dorothea said. “Black Iron Spurs was Felix’s big brother’s band!” She facepalmed. “Never mind, Dima. You should be playing with Aegis—or Felix, at the very least—if anyone is covering ‘Together We Ride.’”

Dimitri snorted. “Good luck convincing _Felix.”_

Dorothea tucked a lock of her voluminous hair behind her ear. “Oh, I have my ways.”

“He’s immune,” Dimitri warned her.

Dorothea laughed. “_No one _is immune.”

“He’s also dating Annette,” Sylvain pointed out.

Dorothea’s eyes practically bugged out of her head, previous intentions forgotten. “He’s _what?! _Since _when!?”_

“New Years’ Eve, or so,” Sylvain said. “So, seriously, _don’t. _Unless you want your head bitten off.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly convince him _now,” _Dorothea said. “I love Annette! She’s the reason I passed music theory four!” A look of consternation passed over Dorothea’s face. “Well, _damn_, now what?”

“Give it up?” Dimitri offered hopefully.

“Or!” Sylvain said brightly. “Have the Watchers learn ‘Together We Ride,’ and trade out a few people with a few of us in Aegis, so that we all take care of the audition requirements together.”

“Oh, I like that plan,” Dorothea said. “That’s a _good _plan.” She paused. “You could still play drums for us, Dima?”

_“No,”_ Dimitri said, a touch exasperatedly. “And since when did you figure out that was my nickname?”

Dorothea merely laughed.

The night rolled on, and bands continued trading out members and testing new sounds. Hilda continued slinging drinks, and no one showed signs of slowing, despite the late Sunday hour.

“I’m going to miss the bus home,” Annette complained, checking the time on her phone.

“I’ll take you home,” Felix offered quietly. 

Annette blushed a furious crimson. “I don’t want to be a bother.”

“If it bothered me, I wouldn’t have offered,” Felix said, steadfastly ignoring that he, too, was blushing.

“I _can’t,” _said Ingrid, getting up from their table to get another drink. She had long since switched to diet coke, but the intent remained the same.

As she waited to catch Hilda’s attention, her phone buzzed in her pocket. 

**Frode: **yo! Look what I found!

Beneath her older brother’s text was a photo of an old photograph, clearly taken on the kitchen table at her parents’ house. Little Glenn was standing proudly at the top of the hill in the Gautiers’ backyard, and little Sylvain was desperately clawing his way up it, little Ingrid not far behind. Little Dimitri was trying to convince little Felix to try again at the foot of the hill, and the littlest one was having none of it. Little Miklan was over in the corner, arms folded and clearly thinking himself too cool to play with the babies, and little Frode could be seen poking over the crest of the hill behind Glenn, en route to tackle him.

None of them could have been older than seven.

**Ingrid: **oh my godddd!!!!!!

She immediately whipped her head around, looking for her bandmates. Felix was still over at their table talking to a red-faced Annette, and Sylvain had been roped into playing for the Watchers. She started back towards their table after Hilda handed her a drink, but paused, midway, as a thought occurred to her.

“Dimitri!” She called, instead rounding on Atrocity’s table, “Look what Frode found!”

She stuck her phone in the face of a very confused Dimitri. He blinked a few times, and then his jaw dropped. “Oh my _God, _we’re such babies!” He tapped her screen a few times to better study everyone. 

“Is this baby Dima?” Byleth asked, leaning over her singer to get a look at Ingrid’s phone.

“Baby Aegis, too,” Dimitri told her.

“You’re so_ tiny,”_ she said in disbelief.

“Pinchy cheeks, too,” said her twin brother from Dimitri’s other side. “And is that dirt in Ingrid’s hair?”

“Ingrid always had dirt in her hair,” Dimitri said, a touch fondly. “Like a little gremlin child.”

“Oh, _excuse_ me!” Ingrid snatched back her phone. “Not all of us could be tiny princes!”

“Of course not,” said Dimitri, “that’s way too many monarchies.”

“What the _fuck _are you doing?” interrupted a new voice.

Ingrid froze, and somehow, unthinkably, it was Byleth who came to her rescue. “Ingrid came to show us a picture.”

Ingrid wordlessly thrust her phone under Felix’s nose. He bristled, and then stilled, eyes going wide. 

“We have work to do,” he snapped with half his usual fire. “Come on.”

“I’m showing Annette,” Ingrid pouted, already on the move.

“Do _not _show Annette,” Felix barked. “We have _work _to do.”

“Thanks, Ingrid,” Dimitri said. “Can you send me that?”

She froze again, and this time they all felt the weight of Felix’s sharp, amber-eyed stare.

“It’s okay if you don’t have my number anymore,” Dimitri added, quietly. “Never mind.”

Several warring emotions crossed Ingrid’s face, and for a moment, she stood rooted to the dirty barroom floor. Felix glared at her expectantly, and Dimitri tried not to make eye contact.

And then, somehow, she squared her shoulders. “Sure.”

Fury exploded across Felix’s sharp face. “Are you _fucking _kidding me?”

“C’mon, Fe,” Ingrid said firmly, although her hands were shaking. “We have work to do.”

-)

On the way home that night, Felix could help but wonder if this was all real.

He was going to play Thunderbrand? Onstage? With a kickass female singer who wanted to? (He supposed he could have brought it up to Aegis again since they’d gotten Annette, but was so used to getting shot down by Ingrid, he’d frankly forgotten.)

He was driving Annette home? Like they were a normal couple or something? _Were _they even a couple? Like, officially? Felix didn’t know.

None of that, however, shorted out the sheer fury in his bones at the news that _Ingrid hadn’t deleted Dimitri’s number. _He knew she and Sylvain hadn’t gone and blocked him everywhere like he had, but fucking_ seriously? _Was she still _talking _to the bastard? He hadn’t interrogated her at the bar because he hadn’t wanted Hilda to latch on to the inevitable gossip, but _holy shit, _he could have punched her. Why did she show him that dumb photo, anyway?

“You okay?” Annette’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “You seem, uh, angrier than usual.”

He opened his mouth to tell her it was nothing, and then thought better of it. “Ingrid still has Dimitri’s fucking phone number.”

Annette blinked a few times. “Is that… bad?”

“Yes, it’s _bad,” _Felix said. “We were all supposed to delete and block the bastard.”

“Because of Remire?” Annette asked.

It caught Felix in the chest, and for a moment, he struggled to breathe. 

“Because _he dropped us_ after Remire,” he managed.

Something pinged dimly in the back of Annette’s mind. “He said you were all afraid of him,” she said slowly. “That’s why he left.”

“Bullshit, we weren’t _afraid.” _His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “Wait, when did he tell you _that?”_

“Thanksgiving,” Annette said, “when we were all looking for you after the stuffing incident. I asked him why he’d left the band, if you were all such good friends for so long.”

“And he told you it was because we were _scared_ of him?” Felix asked, voice dripping in disgust.

Annette studied him for a moment. She noted his fingers were tight on the steering wheel, his jaw clenched and, if she had to take a guess, pulse pounding.

“Yes,” she said finally. “And you know something? I don’t think he’s wrong.”

“Of course he’s wrong!”

“You seem afraid to me.”

“I’m not scared; I’m pissed off.”

“Fe,” Annette said softly, laying her hand on his arm and making him start. “No, you’re not.”

Before he had time to rebuttal, Annette’s phone went off—once, twice, then three times. 

Oh God, it was a phone call.

“Eep!” she said, struggling to work her phone out of her pocket. “I bet it’s Mercedes wondering where I am.”

“It’s like eleven-thirty,” Felix said, his mind still churning. “It’s not _that _late.”

“Yeah, but she’s—” Annette cut herself off mid-sentence as her phone continued to buzz in her hand.

“Annette?” Felix said. “Aren’t you gonna answer?”

She stared at the offending piece of technology in her hand, and said, in a very small voice, “It’s… my Dad.”

Fury roared in his ears. “The fuck is he calling you for?”

“I don’t know.” Annette sounded horrified. “What do I do?”

“Well, what do you _want _to do?”

“_I don’t know!”_

“Do you want me to answer for you?”

“I don’t—ah! It stopped!”

They both sat in silence for a moment, and then Annette’s phone gave one last, final buzz, and fell silent.

“He left a voicemail,” Annette said, still sounding very far away.

“Put it on speaker,” Felix said as he pulled into her apartment lot.

Annette fiddled with her settings as he pulled into a parking spot, engine idling as Gilbert’s voice came through—”Hi, Annette, this is… well, you know who this is. I will be in Garreg Mach for work the week after next, and I thought maybe we could get dinner one night, if you’re free. If, um, that sounds like a plan, please give me a call back. Thanks. Bye.”

They sat in the not-quite-perfect silence of Felix’s idling car for a long, long moment.

Annette stared at her phone, mumbling, “_WhatdoIdowhatdoIdowhatdoIdo…” _over and over again.

“‘Nette,” Felix eventually said, and she jumped. “How about this? If you want to go, then we’ll go. If you don’t want to go, then give me your phone, and I’ll call him back and tell him to stuff it.”

Annette could only stare at him for a moment, wide-eyed and incoherent.

“Sound good?” Felix prodded.

Annette could only burst into tears and bury her face in his chest. And for his part, Felix held her as best he could while still buckled into the driver’s seat. He rested his chin atop her head, and was content enough to be her grounding rod.

“Talk to Mercie,” Felix murmured into her hair, “see what she thinks, and go from there, okay?”

Annette nodded into his chest. “And what do _you _think?”

“Fuck him,” Felix said. “But I’m not you.”

Annette gave a watery laugh.

-)

Much later that night, when Hubert finally laid down to go to bed, his phone went off.

Brow furrowed, he patted around his bedside table in the gloom. When he eventually found his target, he braced himself for the brightness and then opened the text.

It was a photo of a bunch of kids playing on a hill somewhere, and below it, a text from Dimitri.

**Dimitri: **that’s Glenn on the hill

Hubert squinted harder at the picture. He’d assumed that was Felix, originally, but a second look showed green eyes for the boy on the hill, and another, smaller, black-haired figure at the foot of it. The smaller one was next to what Hubert could only figure was little Dimitri.

Hubert had long since done away with feeling like an intruder, but he still thought that perhaps he shouldn't be looking in on Dimitri’s childhood like this. Not for the only logical reason why Dimitri would have sent this to him.

Hubert sighed, and texted back.

**Hubert: **I’ll run the software

His creaking body got to its feet again, bemoaning its fate the whole while. It was a good thing he had long since grown used to working on little sleep, because he was in for a long night. He settled into his desk chair, fired up his laptop, and almost missed when Dimitri texted again.

**Dimitri: **appreciate you

Hubert didn’t know what to say to that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points for anyone who knows what song Dimitri is singing at the beginning (and what it means about Lorenz, lol)


	26. The One Where Felix Fights a Ghost

There were too many parts of Black Iron Spurs that Aegis would never be able to properly emulate, and so, generally speaking, they didn’t try. It wasn’t that they’d never attempted it before, but simply that it wasn’t possible. Sylvain was a far more technically proficient drummer than Dimitri had ever been, but lost something primal as a result. Felix and Ingrid, and now, Annette, weren’t able to capture Glenn’s signature smoky vocals, with voices too high and/or clear to match his sound.

But nowhere did Felix feel it more acutely than when he tried to play Glenn’s solos.

His brother had been a virtuoso, taking to music like a fish to water. If their father was to be believed, then Glenn had begun his storied musical career banging on pots and pans in their kitchen at the tender age of four, and his parents had put him in piano lessons to spare their nerves. 

But he had grown with it, been molded by it. By the time he was ten, he was already mastering concertos and composing chorales, and by fifteen, he had discovered Yngwie Malmsteen and Eddie Van Halen and so damned his classical music career. Felix remembered sitting on Glenn’s floor for hours as a kid, listening to Metallica and Thunderbrand and whoever else caught their fancy. Glenn would teach him how to play here and there when they got tired of listening to others work, and it wasn’t long until their parents got little Felix a guitar, too.

So, all in, it was no surprise to Felix that he couldn’t copy his older brother’s fretwork; he wasn’t nearly so well-trained. No matter how hard he practiced (which was furiously), or how often (which was daily), there remained stubborn riffs and runs that Felix’s fingers just wouldn’t do.

Others could. He’d seen the YouTube covers. There was some ten-year-old kid on the other side of the world who could perfectly emulate his older brother, but Felix Goddamn Fraldarius couldn’t make his fingers do it.

Glenn’s old guitar wailed in his hands when he struck the wrong note, and Felix immediately put his palm to the strings.

“Felix?” came a voice over his headphones. “Are you feeling alright?”

Dorothea was looking at him concernedly from the other side of the recording window, and Sylvain was leaning over the microphone, brow furrowed.

Felix shot them a thumbs up, and motioned for them to begin again.

The engineer for that evening nodded to him, and then Dorothea’s vocals for “Together We Ride” came over Felix’s headphones again:

_Stand up as one,_

_We have nothing to hide!_

_Into the night,_

_Together we ride!_

_There’s no holding back,_

_And we couldn’t if we tried._

_Just drink in the rage—_

_Together, we ride!_

She had no prayer of copying Glenn’s smoke, and so she didn’t try. Dorothea’s voice was high and clear—The Watchers did love their Nightwish covers—and so when Felix layered in with what had become his signature crunch, he almost felt out of tune.

The beginning of Glenn’s solo had never been the difficult part. The crunching power chords just gave way to sweeping runs that were comfortable, familiar. Felix could fingerpick his way along those without too much fuss, and give them style, too.

Then came Glenn’s usual flair, where he hopped along the fretboard and started finger-tapping. It was catchy, and flashy as hell, and Felix had been so proud when he’d first managed it, he’d run to tell his father. Rodrigue had brushed him off with something or other about work, and Felix had quickly learned not to bother him with it.

Then came the part that always gave Felix trouble. There was a sweep at the end that fell into a couple of barre chords that Felix’s fingers just would. Not. _Do. _

Rather than fail at it for the millionth time, Felix improvised instead, hitting a few different notes for flavor and then falling back into the crunchy chorus with what felt like reasonable smoothness.

_Stand up as one,_

_We have nothing to hide!_

_Into the night…_

The engineer cut off the sound to Felix’s headphones, and, annoyed, Felix glanced back up at everyone.

Ingrid and Annette were both giving him enthusiastic thumbs-up, and the engineer leaned over the board to announce into the mic, “I think that’s all we need from you.”

They switched out quickly, Ferdinand going in after Felix to avoid switching out the setup. The redhead fiddled with a few of Felix’s settings, and then was lending Black Iron Spurs his own particular brand of Rock, which was far softer than Felix’s.

Felix slipped into the room Aegis referred to as the “Holding Tank,” where everyone who wasn’t recording hung out, still holding his guitar. He brushed off Hapi’s concern as he shut his guitar back away in its case, and, shrugging, she went back to her practice pad.

_Air. _He needed cold fucking air.

Felix disappeared into Smoker’s Alley behind the studio, where, once upon a time, he’d disappeared to in earnest. A forlorn ashtray sat beside a couple of milk crates, and none of the cigarette butts out here looked like they’d been smoked this decade.

With a huff, Felix lowered himself onto a milk crate and put his head in his hands. One of his many, many therapists had tried to teach him grounding, and so he aimlessly wandered about it now. _Five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can…_

“Felix?”

His head snapped up, and he zeroed in on Annette, leaning partway out of the alley door. “Hey,” he got out. “Do you need something?”

“No, I…” The door banged shut behind her as she slipped into the alley. “You left all in a hurry. Are you okay?”

Felix couldn’t look at her. “Fine.”

Annette took up the milk crate across from him, folded her arms across her tiny frame, and waited.

“What?” Felix said.

“I can wait.”

“Don’t use your damn teacher voice on me.”

“Then don’t tell me you’re fine when you’re not!”

She was… angry? Why was she angry?

Annette looked at him like he’d grown a second head, and Felix realized he’d said that out loud. “You’re not fine!” She accused, jabbing a finger in his direction. “I know it; Sylvain knows it; hell, even Hapi knows it! So don’t lie to me, Felix Fraldarius.”

He blinked at her a few times. “It… isn’t your problem?”

Although he didn’t know it, at that moment, something hard and lumpy lodged in Annette’s throat. “Of course it is,” she said, much more softly. “I’m your girlfriend.”

Part of him wanted to go ‘round and ‘round in circles until she gave up, but the other part of him (softened by Annette’s pleading blue eyes, no doubt) won: “I can’t do the solo in ‘Together We Ride,’” Felix burst out. “I have _never _been able to do it, and I don’t know if Glenn’s fingers were just freakishly dexterous, or stronger than mine, or… or….”

He didn’t realize he was staring at his hands until Annette put hers over his and squeezed. Her hands were small, her fingers far more delicate and compact than his long, spindly ones that his mother had always insisted would make him an excellent piano player. Annette had chipped green nail polish on some of her nails, and something swelled in Felix’s chest at his being close enough to notice.

“I liked your version, too,” Annette said softly. “I know your brother was really talented and all, but sometimes I feel like he puts too many notes in things. It was nice hearing the end of it go legato like that; it’ll be a great lead-in back to the chorus.”

Felix’s head snapped up, and he searched Annette’s face for signs of deceit. He didn’t find any, but she shuffled a little bit, looking a bit sheepish.

“I’m sorry if that’s insensitive,” she said, biting on her lower lip. “I just…”

“No,” Felix said, and they both started at the abruptness. “I mean,” he hastened to add, “It’s nice to…” _not have everyone sucking his dick, _was how he finished that phrase when he was feeling particularly spiteful, but he didn’t like the implication in this particular scenario, and so it took him a moment to reformulate the thought. “I don’t know, everyone fucking loves Black Iron Spurs. Like they’re perfect.”

“They are _not_ perfect,” Annette confirmed. “No offense, but if we’re already poking at him, then your brother’s breath control was _atrocious.”_

Felix’s brow furrowed. “Wait, really?”

Annette nodded. “He hadn’t had any voice lessons; you can always tell. He gets better on the Spurs’ later albums, but…” She shrugged, and shook her head. “That first one was a _doozy.”_

Dimly, Felix remembered Annette spending a whole afternoon during the week before Carnage teaching Ingrid, Sylvain, and himself how to breathe. None of them had even known there _was _a wrong way to breathe, let alone that they were doing it. He’d had to admit, though, he hadn’t felt nearly so winded after Carnage as he usually did after a show.

But listening to Annette now, it was like watching cracks form in the foundation of the Parthenon. Glenn had… flaws?

“It’s not so bad on ‘Together We Ride,’” Annette barreled on, “but on ‘Sacred Stones’? He’s so nasally that whole album is just hard to listen to—_hey!”_

Felix had, abruptly, started to laugh.

Annette’s face screwed up in anger. “Stop laughing! I’m serious!”

“I know,” Felix managed between spurts of laughter. “I know. Give me a sec.”

She stared at him expectantly as he sobered, her hands on her hips.

“It’s…” Felix stopped. “God, this is gonna sound so fucked up.”

“I heard Sylvain flirt with Hapi earlier,” Annette said. “He wasn’t serious, and even Ingrid laughed, but it was still awful. I think I can handle whatever you’ve got.”

Felix snorted again, and then resumed staring at his hands, still entangled with Annette’s. “It’s... nice to hear Glenn get nitpicked for a change. I guess.”

Annette’s brow furrowed. “Do… people not remember he was a human being with human being flaws?”

“Not really. Ingrid sometimes used to bring up that he used to leave the kitchen cabinet doors open all the time, but...” Felix gave an exaggerated shrug. “Bad luck to speak ill of the dead, and all.”

“I always thought that meant ‘don’t make mean stuff up about them,’” Annette said, “not that we weren’t allowed to talk about them as people.”

“I like your version better. It’s... honestly hard to remember Glenn as even _having _flaws.”

Annette squeezed his hands. “I’m sorry. That sounds really hard to live up to. Or down.” She made a face. “You know what I mean.”

Affection still didn’t quite come naturally to Felix, but he couldn’t help but pull Annette towards him and drop a kiss to her forehead. “I do.”

She squeaked, and then snuggled into him (awkwardly, over his milk crate). “Come on,” she said, getting to her feet. “I think Ferdinand should be about done in there, and that should be everybody for today.”

“Wonder where everyone wants to go to dinner?” Felix mused, mostly to himself, as he followed suit.

After their sessions, Felix, Sylvain, and Ingrid had made it a habit to introduce Annette to their favorite restaurants in Fhirdiad, some of which they hadn’t been to in a long time. 

First had been Sylvain’s favorite, a deep-dish pizza joint, where he’d dated a large portion of the younger waitstaff while in high school. When a server threw her tray of drinks on him, he didn’t even bat an eye, although Felix cackled and Ingrid sighed so hard she excused herself. 

Next had been Ingrid’s favorite, a Japanese barbecue restaurant, where High School Athlete Ingrid had upped the price on the “all you can eat” offering twice. The owner was thrilled to see her; the waitstaff, less so. 

Then had come Felix’s favorite, a hole-in-the-wall Mexican joint that boasted the spiciest salsa in town. Felix had really been looking forward to tacos so hot that his stomach rolled, which he had told his band shortly before wolfing down four of them. Sylvain, Annette, and Ingrid had only been able to watch in mute horror, their own meals forgotten.

Annette paused in the motion of heading back inside the studio, looking up at him again now that their heights had realigned. “Um. I hear Ubert’s?”

Felix’s face fell. “Son of a bitch, don’t tell me they invited…”

-)

“It’s good to see you!” Rodrigue said, giving each member of Aegis an enormous hug whether they wanted it or not. “I didn't realize you’ve all been up in Fhirdiad so often; I would have done this sooner!”

“It’s sort of fallen together recently,” Sylvain told him. “And, seriously Uncle Rod, you don’t have to pay for us.”

“Nonsense,” Rodrigue insisted, “what are parents for?”

“Well, I’m sold,” Sylvain said, scooting into the booth beside Ingrid.

Felix kicked him under the table.

Once the server had been around with drinks, they settled in (so much as Felix ever did, anyway). “How is recording going?” Rodrigue asked from over the rim of his coffee mug.

Felix gave Ingrid and Sylvain a sharp look, and they both suddenly seemed unable to catch his eye.

“Great!” Annette offered into the growing silence. “We’ve just about finished recording our Ailell audition with the Watchers, so we should be able to get it submitted well before the deadline next week.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” Rodrigue said with a genuine smile. “That festival is all over my desk right now.”

“They’re hiring Seiros?” Felix asked, brow furrowing.

Rodrigue nodded. “Apparently, we impressed their coordinator enough at Carnage they came straight to us.”

“Well, you guys are the best,” Sylvain said. 

“We certainly try to be.” Rodrigue paused, as though something had just occurred to him. “Ingrid! Don’t let me forget, I have something for you out in my car.”

“Um,” she said, “okay?”

“Your dad was going through the old family photos, the other day,” Rodrigue elaborated. “He wanted to make sure you had some of them.”

Ingrid’s face lit up. “Oh, Frode sent me one!”

“Oh, at the Golden Deer?” Annette asked. At Ingrid’s nod, she added, “That was so cute! I hope there’s more of tiny Felix in these ones.”

“There _better _not be,” Felix growled.

But Rodrigue only laughed. “I’m sure there is. Plenty of tiny Ingrid, Sylvain, and Dimitri, too.”

Felix’s ire spiked at the reminder.

“Annette, I’m sure you’ll be relieved to hear that I was always as devastatingly handsome as I am now,” Sylvain said.

Annette laughed. “Thanks, I can rest easy.”

“That’s a bald-faced lie,” Ingrid said to Sylvain. “You were a chubby-faced dumbass.”

“So, not much has changed?” Felix put forward.

“Hey!” Sylvain yelped over Annette’s rising laughter. “At least _I _was not the one covered in dirt!”

Ingrid turned scarlet, but then Rodrigue interrupted, “Actually, yes, you were. All of you, in fact, tracked so much mud across the house Sinclair begged me to get rubber mats to spare the carpeting.”

Ingrid, Felix, and Sylvain all stared at Rodrigue for a moment, completely dumbfounded, and Annette choked on her laughter.

“Glenn, Frode, and Miklan also begged to be let off the hook in watching the ‘feral gremlins’ in the backyard,” Rodrigue added. “More than once, in fact.”

This time, it was Felix who choked on his laughter. “Fucking incredible,” he wheezed.

“I had no idea babysitting us was so difficult,” Ingrid said, laughter tugging at her words.

Sylvain’s brow furrowed. “Hell, I could have told you that.”

“How could you…?” Felix began, only to be cut off by the arrival of their dinner.

Rodrigue had ordered the Ubert’s Special (which everyone else dubbed ‘the old man’), Felix doused his breakfast sandwich in hot sauce, Sylvain drowned his pancakes in syrup, Ingrid ordered an entire breakfast platter for herself, and Annette had found the cheapest possible item on the menu that Felix wouldn’t glare at her over.

All was right with the universe. 

“Actually,” Rodrigue said at one point, “I think I have something for all of you. Would any of you be interested in seeing the Blue Lions play at Gronder Field for the spring game?”

Felix’s love of baseball immediately went to war with his desire to never owe his father a damn thing, but Sylvain answered, “Hell yeah! Were you thinking of getting tickets?”

“We actually got some at Serios, compliments of von Arundel,” Rodrigue said, rolling his eyes. “If he thinks he can bribe a _security company _into giving him a better deal, he’s mad.”

“Wait, so they’re _free _spring game tickets?” Sylvain clarified.

“There are dozens,” Rodrigue said, exasperatedly. “Please take some.”

“Sure, we’d love to go!” Ingrid said brightly, already daydreaming of ballpark hot dogs and nachos.

“Won’t they think it’s strange if we show up with the tickets given to Seiros Security?” Annette asked, a touch nervously.

“Nobody keeps that close track of ‘em,” Sylvain told her.

“Some of the force will be there,” Rodrigue said. “But, yes, Sylvain is correct. Especially since they’re box seats.”

“Dammit, Dad,” Felix muttered. “Now I _have _to go.”

Rodrigue smiled at him. “I’m sure it’ll be very hard on you. Annette, would you please make sure to get Felix an overpriced beer when you get there?”

She giggled. “Can do!”

The rest of the meal passed in genial conversation, and for a moment, Felix almost forgot he was supposed to be annoyed with his dad for butting into his life again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH you guys this hit 100 bookmarks I think today!! I'm so glad you're all enjoying :D
> 
> (also I may or may not be living vicariously through my characters' ability to go out to eat. ((I miss it so much)) )


	27. The One Where Annette Gives Up

“That’s it!” Ingrid announced from where she sat, hunched over her laptop in Aegis’ basement. “It’s submitted!”

Sylvain threw his hands up and Annette gave a happy whoop. “Hard part’s over!” she said.

“Now we wait,” Felix said, passing around celebratory shots of whiskey.

Aegis held their shot glasses at eye level, and then downed them together. 

“Sounds like the Watchers are submitting their audition today, too,” Sylvain said, glancing at his phone and rolling his now-empty shot glass between his long fingers. “So we’ll see if your theory was right, Annie.”

“If it wasn’t,” Annette said, a touch conspiratorially, “at least ours got in first.”

_“Annette!” _Ingrid jokingly scolded, at the same time Felix cackled.

Annette blushed a fiery crimson, and then looked down at her phone again. _5:45 _it read, and her heartbeat began thudding in her chest again. 

“I just need to take a quick shower, Annette,” Felix said, “then we can go.”

“Okay.” She reddened further at being seen right through. “Ingrid, can I use your room to get changed and stuff?”

“Sure,” said Ingrid. “Where are you guys going?”

“We’re getting dinner with my dad at the Varsity Club,” Annette said.

“Ooo, fancy,” Ingrid said.

“It’s not _that _fancy,” Felix scoffed. “It’s just collared shirts and no flip flops.”

“Interesting choice,” Sylvain said. “You guys choose?”

Annette shook her head. “He did.”

“Probably because it’s close to wherever my dad has him assigned right now,” Felix inputted as he began shutting his guitar away in its case.

“That’s fair,” Ingrid said. “Well, let us know how it goes, okay?”

“Sure,” said Annette, a lump forming in her throat.

-)

Felix stood in front of his closet in a towel, staring at his clothes like the answer would just magically jump out at him. He had never been good with this kind of thing, and was left with no other choice but to call in the cavalry.

He poked his head out of his bedroom door, shouting,_ “Sylvain!”_

“Yo!” came the response from somewhere towards the kitchen. 

“Can I borrow you a second?” Felix called back.

A pause, then, “Sure!”

Sylvain appeared in his door a few minutes later, zipping up a hoodie with a questioning look.

Felix sighed. “How do I say ‘fuck you’ with plausible deniability through clothes?”

Sylvain’s eyes lit up. “Ah! Leave it to me.”

He began digging through Felix’s closet, making faces at various articles and eventually pausing over a blazer. “You can always go with a sport coat,” Sylvain said. “Classic ‘fuck you, I’m classy.’”

“I’m not wearing a damn suit jacket,” Felix snapped. “It’s the Varsity Club, not Ordelia’s.”

He was also pretty sure he’d be out-dressing Annette, at that point, and there was no need to make her feel more anxious about this dinner.

Sylvain rolled his eyes. “Alright, alright, let’s see.” He hung the blazer up again and continued sorting through his roommate’s clothes. For a long moment, he said nothing, appraising this shirt and that one with a discerning eye, and then he paused. 

“I got it.”

A navy blue, sharply collared button-down threw itself onto Felix’s bed, followed by a pair of black dress slacks. 

“That’ll do her,” Sylvain said. “You got a big ol’ ‘fuck off’ watch?” He circled his wrist with his other hand, as if to demonstrate.

“Probably not,” Felix admitted, going over to his dresser to look around for the singular watch he owned.

Sylvain loosed an overdramatic sigh. “You can borrow mine, you hopeless bastard. I’ll be right back.”

“Uh, in case you haven’t noticed,” Felix called after him, “you’re huge and I’m not!”

“It’ll work!” Sylvain called back as he disappeared into his room.

Felix tried to ignore the headache blooming between his eyes and quickly got dressed, throwing his towel over his desk chair to be hung up later. Sylvain returned a few minutes later with a jewelry box that he promptly handed to Felix.

Although Felix would never admit it, Sylvain did have pretty decent taste. The watch had a black face with gold numbering, if one could call the various lines that, and was very obviously expensive. _Big ol’ ‘Fuck off’ watch, yeah._

After a few moments of Felix stubbornly trying to get it on himself, Sylvain elbowed his way in to do up the clasp. Felix shook his wrist a few times to test the fit, and although the watch face moved a bit, it mostly stayed put.

“That’ll work,” Felix said.

Sylvain nodded, and then pressed his fist into his chin in thought. “I think you need to wear your dress shoes,” he said after a moment.

“How about dress _boots?” _Felix argued, already going to his closet to dig through his dirty clothes to find them.

Sylvain gave yet another over dramatic sigh. “_Wingtips, _bro. You need _wingtips.”_

Felix paused in his search to throw Sylvain a dirty look over his shoulder. “Why? I’m not _forty.”_

Sylvain spread his arms, and suddenly took up most of the available space in Felix’s room. “Did you want my help or nah?”

“I asked you to help me find clothes I already own, not pick apart my fashion sense.”

A few moments later Felix found what he was looking for. He unceremoniously buckled on the (okay pretty stylish, but Sylvain would never admit it) black ankle boots and then got to his feet.

“Do me a favor and go stand over there with your hands in your pockets,” Sylvain said, waving in an indiscriminate direction.

Felix shot him an exasperated look but did as asked, moving to stand over by his bedside table and shoving his hands in his pockets. He glared at his roommate from beneath his still-wet bangs, yet to be pulled back.

Sylvain studied his handiwork for a moment, and then a nasty grin spread across his face (the one that he’d absolutely inherited from his mama). “Yeah, that’ll work. ‘Fuck you,’ but make it classy.” The grin only widened when he added, “All you need’s a cigarette.”

Felix tsked. “Annette would kill me.”

“She knows you used to, right?” Sylvain stepped aside so that Felix could get through his door, towel in hand.

“Probably,” Felix said. “It’s not a secret.”

Neither Felix nor Annette were prepared to lay eyes on the other when they met back up in the family room. They stared at each other for a comically long moment, both speechless.

Annette was wearing her long black handkerchief-hem skirt from Carnage with a loose, white blouse tucked into it. A geode-looking pendant was a splash of bright orange across her blouse, and she was wearing expertly applied makeup.

“You… look nice,” Felix finally managed.

“Thanks,” Annette said, turning vibrantly red. “You, um, do too.”

Ingrid muttered a prayer from the kitchen to save her from the secondhand embarrassment.

“Good luck!” Sylvain said as he passed, clapping the both of them on the shoulder. “Don’t lose your shit!”

Annette looked mildly offended. “I’m not worried about _that.”_

“Wasn't talking to you.”

The glare Sylvain earned from Felix was legendary.

-)

“Welcome to the Garreg Mach Varsity Club,” said the hostess. “What can I do for you?”

Felix glanced to Annette, who was only a few steps shy of physically panicking (and had been the whole way here), and heard himself say, “We’re meeting someone. Older guy, greying, ginger hair, probably wearing the Seiros Security Uniform. Has he been by?”

The host thought back a moment. “I don’t believe so, but you’re welcome to check.”

Felix turned to move towards the dining room, but when Annette didn’t follow, added, “Hang on, I’ll be back.”

“Okay,” she said, still wide-eyed and only half here.

It would be a miracle if Felix made it through this dinner without punching Gilbert.

A quick survey later, Felix reappeared at the host stand. “Looks like we beat him. Table for three, please?”

They were seated at a four top in the middle of the damn place, and the host promised a server would be by as she set menus in front of them. Felix was torn for a moment between the drink menu and his girlfriend, but the latter won out.

She was staring, unseeing, at her hands, and completely still, unmoving. It was unnatural; Annette was a bundle of energy and a chatterbox. 

Of all the things Felix would never forgive Gilbert for, what he did to his daughter’s mental state was number one.

“Hey.” Against his nature, Felix reached out, setting his hand over hers. “Stay with me, yeah?”

Annette blinked a few times, as if only just now realizing he was there. “I’m here. Sorry.”

Felix chose his next words more carefully than he’d written college essays: “Are you sure you want to do this?”

Annette gave a startled little laugh. “It’s a little late now, don’t you think?”

Felix threw a glance over his shoulder and didn’t find his mark. “Not yet, it’s not.”

Annette switched their hands, so that she was squeezing his with both of hers. “I want to know why he suddenly wanted to do this. I’m not going to let a little anxiety stop me.”

“Nasty bitch will try, though,” Felix muttered.

Annette laughed, just as the waiter came by. “Welcome to… oh! Hi, guys!”

A slim young man, about their age, was smiling at them through a pair of thick, rounded glasses. _Do I know you? _nearly tumbled from Felix’s lips, but Annette burst out, “Oh, Ignatz, hi!”

_Ignatz Victor. _Right. He was the accidental darling of the Garreg Mach Art Department, or had been, in undergrad. Felix had had a business class or two with the guy in college, but he had no idea how Annette knew him.

“Didn’t know you worked here,” Felix said. 

“Art supplies don’t buy themselves.” Ignatz gave an embarrassed smile. “Anyway, I see you’re waiting on one more, but can I get you something to drink while you wait?”

Felix snorted. “Yeah, I’m gonna need one.” He glanced over the drink list, which tragically consisted of about four different domestic beers and a whole host of cocktails. “What’s this one, the Sword of the Creator?”

“That’s one of my favorites,” Ignatz offered. “It’s gin, Sprite, a little bit of lime juice, and cherry bitters.”

Felix made a face. “Is it sweet?”

“Not even a little bit.”

“Perfect, I’ll take that. Annette?”

She was staring at the drink menu. “Is the Wyvern Lord any good?”

Ignatz nodded. “Well, I mean, I’m not entirely a fan, but I’ve heard it’s really good! It’s a double shot of vodka, our homemade simple syrup, and fresh cranberry juice.”

“Great,” Annette said distantly. “I’ll have that, please.”

“Okay!” Ignatz flashed them another smile. “I’ll put that in for you.”

For a moment, Felix and Annette were quiet, and then she buried her head in her hands. “I can’t believe I just ordered a twelve-dollar cocktail,” she mumbled.

“You deserve one,” Felix said, “and I _need _one, so don’t worry about it.”

She gave a little laugh, and sat back up again. “So, do you think we have a chance at getting into Ailell?”

“Oh, hell yeah,” Felix said. “We’re _good, _and so are the Watchers.” 

Annette staring at him again like she couldn’t quite believe he was real, and Felix felt his face burn. “What?” He barked.

“I…” She sighed. “Never mind.”

“No, seriously.”

“I _said_, never mind.”

Felix felt his hackles raise in a way they didn’t typically, around Annette. “What are you staring at?”

“Felix, I _don’t_ want to talk about it right this minute.” Annette had shut her eyes and was trying unsuccessfully to even out her breathing. “I just, I can’t right now.”

His blood was singing for a fight, but the rational part of Felix’s brain knew it wasn’t Annette he wanted to pick a fight with. “Got it.”

Ignatz returned a few minutes later to a somewhat chillier silence, setting down two rocks glasses on cocktail napkins. “Can I get you anything else while you wait?”

“Nah, we’re good,” Felix said. 

Annette nodded, faintly, beside him.

“Okay.” Ignatz nodded, although he was no longer smiling, brow instead furrowed. “I’ll be around if you need anything.”

“Thanks,” Annette said as he left again. She stared at her drink again in mild disgust. “Seriously, a _rocks glass _and it’s twelve dollars?”

Felix barked a short, tense laugh, and reached for his own drink. “Don’t ask how much Sylvain’s favorite shot is, then.”

Annette sipped her drink, and although it was good, she felt just a bit dirty for it. “What _is _his favorite shot?”

“Straight bourbon, the higher the shelf, the better.”

“_God.” _Annette winced. “He couldn’t announce he comes from money better if he _tried.”_

They lapsed into silence again, and as time wore on, Annette began fidgeting. At first Felix tried to graciously ignore it, even though with her leg bouncing like that under the table, she was frequently knocking into his knee. But the fifth time she checked her phone in not even as many minutes, Felix said could help but snap, “Just call him?”

“Good idea.” Annette leapt to her feet, bringing her phone with her and knocking her hip into the table. “Be right back.”

Felix watched her head back out into the student union, pressing her phone to her ear and worrying her lower lip with her teeth. 

Never mind on the miracle, he was going to kick the shit out of Gilbert if he didn’t get his ass to the dinner _he planned _soon.

Ignatz trailed by at one point. “Still waiting for your friend?”

Felix gave a derisive snort. “Hardly. We’re supposed to be meeting her dad.” He jerked a thumb towards Annette’s currently vacated chair.

Ignatz’s eyes widened almost comically behind his glasses. “Oh! No wonder you both seemed…” He trailed off.

“Tense? Anxious? Pissed off?” Felix filled in. “Hell, Ignatz, I know you have eyes.”

“Sorry,” he offered sheepishly. “I didn’t want to be rude.”

Something else occurred to Felix. “I didn’t realize you guys were such good friends.”

“Oh, I don’t know about _that_,” Ignatz said. “But she tutored my roommate, Raphael, in college. I heard a lot about her mom, but nothing about her dad.”

Felix’s gut broiled. “I hate how much sense that makes.”

That was the exact moment Annette chose to return, sliding into her seat beside Felix and radiating even _more _anxiety, which Felix had not previously thought possible.

“He isn’t picking up,” she said. “I left him a message, and texted.”

“That bastard better be stuck in traffic with his phone stuck under his seat somewhere,” Felix muttered.

“Felix!” Annette squeaked.

He met her eye, fury swelling in his chest, and instinctively, Annette shrank back.

Felix felt gutted.

“I’m sure he has a good reason,” Annette tried.

“I’m sure he does,” Ignatz agreed sympathetically. “Can I get you another drink, in the meantime?”

With a start, Felix realized his glass was empty. And although part of him wanted to get belligerently drunk and let Gilbert have it, this night wasn’t about him. “I should probably switch to water,” he said instead.

Ignatz nodded, and was off again.

They sat in heavy, awkward silence for the longest, most painful moment of their entire friendship and relationship, combined.

“I’m sorry,” Felix burst out, at the same time Annette said, “I know you hate my dad.”

They stared at each other for a long, startled moment.

“I don’t hate your dad,” Felix said. “I hate how he treats you.”

“I… don’t think I knew I was allowed to hate that,” Annette said, her voice very quiet. She looked to him, then, noting his sharp edges and tense shoulders. “Thanks.”

“Annette, that’s the worst thing I’ve ever heard. What the fuck?”

She turned back to her overpriced cocktail, unwilling and unable to engage right now. She wrapped her fingers around it and stared into the swirling ice.

Felix winced. “I’m sorry. I’ll cool it.”

Although Annette seriously doubted that, she still gave him a soft smile that, unbeknownst to her, turned his insides to jelly. “Thanks."

They dissolved into a much lighter conversation about Felix’s job and Annette’s student teaching as the dining room gradually began to fill with professors, students with their parents, or on dates, and the occasional alumni.

But it was distinctly missing one Gilbert Pronislav.

Ignatz had been by a few more times, asking after drinks and food, and eventually Felix ordered them an appetizer and apologized for taking up one of his tables all night. Ignatz laughed and told them not to worry about it, but somewhere in the back of Felix’s former-server brain, he felt bad.

“Do I call him again?” Annette asked as she stared at the half-eaten arancini on her plate.

Felix resisted the urge to fire off on Gilbert, and instead, asked, “When was the last time?” 

Annette fiddled with her phone for a moment, and then said, very quietly, “An hour ago.”

“No.” The word came down between them like a guillotine. “We order food and assume he isn’t coming.”

Annette blinked a few more times, and said nothing.

“I’ll be right back.” She was suddenly on her feet. “I just… need to use the restroom. No, no, it’s okay; don’t get up.”

Felix gingerly sat back down as Annette disappeared across the room, and felt his fists dig into his thighs. Fury rose in his throat and threatened to choke him as he watched Annette make tracks and stubbornly try not to cry in public.

There would be no forgiving Gilbert, after this one.

Felix had just pulled out his phone to dick around on reddit or something when he realized Annette had left hers unlocked on the table. He had promised to cool it, but then again, what she didn’t know wouldn't hurt her.

Right?

When Annette returned to the table, Felix wasn’t there. Her brow furrowed as she picked up her phone. _No text or anything … did he go to the bathroom?_

“He went to take a phone call,” said Ignatz somewhere from over her shoulder.

Annette gave a little start. “Oh, um, thanks. Did he say who called or anything?”

Ignatz shook his head apologetically. “He looked pretty pissed, if it helps?”

Annette gave a small laugh. “He always does.”

Ignatz looked surprised for a moment, and then relief spread across his sweet face. “Well, you said it. Any news from your Dad?”

At once, Annette’s amusement dropped. “No, but Felix and I will order dinner in a few, here.” She flashed an apologetic smile. “Sorry to take up a table all night.”

“It’s really alright,” Ignatz insisted. “I’ll be back around, okay?”

And then Annette was alone again at a table in the middle of a restaurant too rich for her blood. How did this always happen with Felix? She’d stuck out like a sore thumb at Tokyo Inn all those months ago, and although this time she at least looked the part, she would have been too self-conscious about her table manners, her clothes, her everything, without Felix beside her. Her parents had had money, once upon a time, but Annette certainly hadn’t been raised in it like he had been.

She squeezed her eyes shut and refused to cry again, having finally stopped and fixed her makeup less than two minutes ago. 

“Hey,” came a familiar voice, far more softly than it usually came out, as a guitar-calloused hand settled on her shoulder.

Annette opened her eyes and found herself snared in Felix’s steady, amber gaze.

“Sorry, I got a phone call,” Felix said. “You okay? Do you want to leave?”

Annette gave a small, tired smile, and reached up to squeeze his hand. “Let’s just eat, okay?”

“Sure.” Felix reclaimed his seat beside her, their knees gently knocking against each other in the space. “It is good food, here.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” When Felix’s gaze immediately snapped back to her, Annette winced, and added, “Sorry, that wasn’t meant to sound so bitter.”

They left Ignatz the biggest tip of his night when they left.

-)

Many hours later, well across Garreg Mach Town, Annette’s father would check his voicemail and receive three increasingly frantic calls from his daughter, and then one from an unknown number.

_“Hey Gilbert, it’s your favorite future son-in-law. You were supposed to meet your daughter for dinner tonight and fucking stood her up without so much as an apology text.” _

The anger rose in the man’s voice as he continued. “_If you ever so much as _think _about reaching out again, do us all a favor and fuck off, first. How dare you give her hope like that? Your spineless ass already walked out on them once; what the fuck is wrong with you?”_

All at once, the anger cut out, replaced with something far colder, and, in all honesty, worse. _“Don’t bother calling me back; I’m blocking this number as soon as I hang up. Go fuck yourself, and stay out of Annette’s life.”_

A pause, and then, 

_“Die in a fire.”_

For a long moment, Gilbert could only stand in his hotel room and stare at his phone in disbelief.

And then, for the first time in many years, felt himself start to break.

He blindly tapped at his phone, attempting to call back his increasingly frantic daughter. It rang, and rang, and then by some minor miracle, he heard it:

“Hello?” 

“Annette!” Gilbert’s voice shook with his hands. “Annette, I’m so sorry, I got caught up at work and…”

“I don’t want to hear it, Dad.”

Silence cut across their shared connection.

“I wanted to give you a chance,” she said, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I really wanted to. I went to a bougie restaurant and waited for you for hours. I wanted…” She hiccuped. “It doesn't matter. Never mind. Good night.”

The line clicked dead.

He dialed her number again and again, but each time it rang through, unanswered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Graveyard," by Halocene


	28. The One With the Atrocity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my brothers who enjoy sports enough to have been to a game with box seating!~ They got many texts about this chapter lol

February bled into March, and soon enough, Aegis was heading to Gronder Field for the spring game. Well, spring double header, really. The Blue Lions would be playing the Deirdru Golden Deer and then the Enbarr Black Eagles in a back-to-back season opener.

“Thanks for letting me borrow your shirt, Sylvain,” Ingrid said as they hiked from the parking garage to the stadium. “I don’t know what happened to mine.”

She was wearing a Blue Lions t-shirt that had probably fit Sylvain in high school, but was still too big for her. Annette had helped Ingrid bunch it up with a hair tie at her back, and the result was somehow hilariously more feminine than a simple t-shirt really ought to be. 

“Sure thing,” Sylvain said, his heart thumping painfully in his chest. 

“Wonder if they still have that bar thing over left field?” Felix wondered aloud. 

“Oo, where we used to sit as kids?” Ingrid piped up. “I hope so.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever actually been to a live baseball game that wasn’t played by Mercedes’ little brother in middle school,” Annette said, a tad sheepishly. 

Sylvain’s jaw thumped against his chest. “What? No way!”

“We'll get you a hot dog and an overpriced beer,” Ingrid promised, “and then you will understand.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Do you ever think about anything other than food?”

Ingrid laid into him all though the ticket taker lines. 

-)

“Oh,” Annette breathed, “my _God. _Is this what having money is like?”

Although the Blue Lions were only a minor league team, no expense had been spared for its box seating. It could almost be mistaken for a condo, with its built-in kitchen and TV setup with couches, if not for the open view of the diamond at the far wall. Chairs had been lined up, stadium-style, for those who wanted to watch, and the box was situated just slightly off-center, behind home plate.

“Pretty much,” Sylvain said to Annette. “The food and beer are also unlimited.”

“Oh my god,” Ingrid said, “I’m never leaving.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Let’s find my Dad before you go off stuffing your face.”

“Ooo, good call,” said Annette.

Ingrid hit him.

The band had taken maybe three steps before a voice called to them:

“Oh, hey Aegis. Fancy meting you here.”

Byleth Eisner stood next to the food counter in very short shorts and an oversized jersey that looked oddly familiar. She gave them a little wave when they turned, her expression flat as ever.

“Oh, hey Byleth,” Ingrid said. 

Felix supposed they should have figured she would be here, given that she worked for Seiros Security, but he was no less annoyed to have any combination of Atrocity in the room.

“How’s it going?” Sylvain added politely, when no one else did.

“Fine,” she said, unblinking. “Just waiting for my brother and Dima to get out of the bathroom so we can find our seats.”

Felix bit back on his molars so hard he felt his jaw pop. _Of fucking course Dad invited Dimitri, too. _It occurred to him a moment later that Byleth may have, but that didn’t feel right.

“I think they got Dorothea to sing the national anthem, too,” Byleth continued blithely, as if nothing had shifted.

“Neat,” said Sylvain, already pushing his bandmates along. “I’m sure we’ll see you down there?”

“Yep,” said Byleth, giving another wave as they left.

Annette waited until they were out of earshot to say, sheepishly, “I feel bad saying it, but honestly, she gives me the creeps.”

Sylvain’s voice dropped low and conspiratorial. “She _and_ her brother.”

“It’s ‘cause they never blink,” Felix told them.

A look of horror crossed Ingrid’s face. “Oh my God, they _don’t, _do they?”  
  


Aegis eventually found Rodrigue talking to a few of his subordinates near the booze. He gave each of them a huge hug (which they accepted with varying amounts of grace) and promised to chat with them later.

Shrugging, Ingrid determined it now to be chow time.

Aegis found their seats a while later, plates of food in hand, just in time to be told to rise for the national anthem. They did so awkwardly, shuffling drinks into cupholders and plates onto their cushioned seats.

Dorothea Arnault somehow managed to make a ball cap and jersey look classy as she belted out the Faerghus national anthem. Annette would have been jealous if that weren’t simply _Dorothea. _

“Play ball!” she called at the end with her signature wink.

“I wonder if the Watchers are here?” Annette mused as they took their seats again after much shuffling.

“I doubt it,” came a familiar voice from behind them. “Dorothea does all kinds of singing gigs around… well, everywhere.”

Dimitri and the Eisner Twins had taken up the seats one row back.

“I believe it,” Sylvain said, as Felix silently fumed beside him. “She’s got the flexibility to sing way more than just rock.”

“One could argue her talents are lost on rock, really,” Beresu agreed.

Byleth snorted. It was the most emotion Aegis had ever seen out of her, other than the night she yelled at the cops outside their house. “You just don’t want to go head-to-head with the Watchers at Ailell,” she said.

“It’s not a competition,” Beresu argued, taking a sip of his beer.

“Dorothea is usually the one singing at the governor’s ball,” Dimitri interjected.

“Oh, yeah,” said Ingrid, pausing over her plate of nachos. “That just happened, didn’t it?”

Dimitri nodded. “And Dorothea was the most interesting thing to happen that night, trust me. Her jazz setlist was phenomenal.”

Byleth’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure it wasn’t when Governor von Aegir spilled his drink on Mister von Vestra?”

Dimitri snorted. “Okay, yeah, that was pretty entertaining, too.”

“Were you there this year, Byleth?” Annette asked politely.

She nodded, and took a sip of her beer. “I was Dimitri’s not-date.”

Dimitri went red to the tips of his ears. “Asking an actual date, um, kind of slipped my mind.”

Beresu rolled his eyes.

“Von Vestra?” Felix piped up, startling both his band and Atrocity. “Hubert’s dad was there?”

“He usually is,” Dimitri said. “He’s the Enbarr county coroner. Why?”

Felix shrugged. “Just struck me as weird. Hubert’s not exactly the partying type, so I can’t imagine his dad is, either.”

“He isn’t,” Byleth confirmed, completely deadpan.

Ingrid mulled her next thought over the cheesy nacho dip. “I’m surprised you’re still invited to that, Dimitri.”

“You know what?” he said. “So am I. But I think it’s just Governor Cornelia’s way of saving face.”

“To _whom?” _Felix asked.

“Fhirdiad,” Beresu said flatly. “She needs Fhirdiad to like her if she wants to get reelected.”

They settled in to watch the first game against the Golden Deer, and almost made it through a whole inning before Beresu spoke up again.

“So I hear the pink-haired bartender from the Golden Deer has an older brother on their team,” he said.

“Yeah, Holst Goneril,” Sylvain said. “Dude’s a legend.”

“Should be in the majors by now,” Ingrid agreed. “But there’s always some reason they don’t promote him.”

“Why does the bar have the same name as the baseball team?” Byleth asked.

“I think the bar is named after the baseball team,” Dimitri said.

“It’s a Deirdru thing,” Felix snapped. “Something like a town mascot.” At the stares he was getting, he added, “I asked Hilda about the bar’s name, once.”

A few innings later, Rodrigue found a chair in the row before Aegis. “Good to see all you troublemakers getting along.”

Sylvain gasped in mock shock. “Who are you calling a troublemaker, Uncle Rod?”

“Yeah, my Dad couldn’t have been responsible for _all _of those rules in the Freshman dorms,” Dimitri added.

“Alright, alright,” Rodrigue said, holding up his hands like he’d been caught, “I may have had a hand in a few of them—_but! _The one about no inflatables all the roof? That was all Lambert.”

Byleth’s jaw dropped a little as her twin brother started to laugh. “_What?”_

Rodrigue took a sip of his beer. “I’ll tell you when you’re older, kids.” 

“I am twenty-six!” Sylvain gasped. “I deserve to know the story of why I couldn’t host Felix’s birthday blow-out on the roof of our dorms.”

“That was never happening,” Felix said.

“Old-er,” Rodrigue repeated in a joking singsong.

“Wait a minute.” Felix’s eyes narrowed. “Who are you and what have you done with my dad?”

“Ope,” said Rodrigue, getting to his feet and taking his beer with him, "that’s my cue!”

“Hey!” Felix barked as his bandmates cackled. “Are you drunk?”

“Don't worry,” Sylvain said, patting Felix roughly on the shoulder as he got to his feet. "I'll get you another beer, bud."

“I’ll come with,” Dimitri said, also getting to his feet. “I’m out, too.”

“Why did it have to be the two that are over six feet?” Byleth groused. “Holst was back up to bat.”

Sylvain and Dimitri fell into an easy enough silence as they made their way back over to the couch/kitchen area. For a moment, they could have all just been normal friends again.

And then Dimitri opened his mouth.

“How’s the house? Security System holding up okay?”

“Yeah, it works great.” A shadow passed over Sylvain’s face. “We finally got the all clear to paint over that stupid graffiti, too. So that’s on the agenda for next week.”

“Let me know if you need any help,” Dimitri said.

It sounded automatic, but Sylvain still felt the need to point out, “You’d have to get around Felix for that.”

“Oh.” Dimitri’s face twisted. “Right. Maybe Dedue, then. I know Mercedes has been worried sick.”

“They already loaned us their dog,” Sylvain pointed out. “I’m not sure what else she can do.”

Dimitri made a noncommittal noise and wrenched open the cooler lid. “What did you want?”

“The lager, if you would,” came a voice that most certainly did not belong to Sylvain. 

Dimitri glanced over his shoulder, brow furrowed, and locked eyes with none other than Arundel himself. 

“Oh, hi Uncle,” Dimitri said. “Sure, here.”

Dimitri passed Arundel a sweating bottle of beer, unaware of the thought rapidly whirring through Sylvain’s brain. 

_Uncle?_

“Dima! I hardly recognized you.” Arundel clapped Atrocity’s lead singer on the shoulder as if this happened all the time. “You, I suppose, _un-_clean up nicely.”

Dimitri laughed. “Thank you, it’s the eye patch.”

Arundel left with his beer, and Dimitri turned back to the cooler. He rummaged about the ice water for a moment, rescuing another lager and then pausing. “Sorry, Sylvain, did you tell me which one you wanted?”

Sylvain was suddenly crouched beside him, digging through the cooler himself. “_Uncle?” _he hissed.

Dimitri blinked. “Beg pardon?”

“Arundel.” Sylvain jerked his head sharply towards the direction Arundel had left in. “He’s your _uncle?”_

“By marriage.” Warning bells began singing in the back of Dimitri’s mind. “He’s my stepmother’s brother.”

Sylvain said nothing, instead yanking two IPAs out of the cooler and looking about for the Blue Lions-branded drying towel.

_“What?” _Dimitri pressed, straightening up with him. It was unfortunate that he and Sylvain had ended up right around the same height; Dimitri’s usual intimidation tactic was useless.

“Nothing.” Sylvain popped the bottle caps off his and Felix’s beers. “Just surprised. Was he at the Governor’s Ball, too?”

“Yes,” Dimitri answered carefully. “How’d you know?”

“You un-clean up nicely,” Sylvain repeated, a touch of something nasty beneath his generally pleasant tone.

Dimitri knew him well enough, or at least, once had, to know he wasn’t getting anything else out of Sylvain once he got like this, and so he let it go for the moment.

The first game turned out to be a close one, with the Blue Lions and Golden Deer fairly evenly matched. But in the end, the Golden Deer won out, and the Lions fans were left to drown their sorrows in overpriced beer and half-off hot dogs in the interlude between games. Aegis avoided Arundel and Atrocity as best they could, and at one point, Felix point-blank asked Rodrigue, very lowly in the bathroom as they washed their hands, “What is Arundel doing here?”

“This is his box,” Rodrigue answered just as quietly. “I would imagine, he’s being a good host.”

They studied each other’s reflection in the mirror for a long moment, still not turning the water off.

“He creeps me out,” Felix hissed.

“I don’t trust him, either,” Rodrigue murmured.

That was when they both stopped drinking beer.

Day turned into early evening as the Black Eagles took the field, and the war began again. Drinks were poured and food was passed around, and Aegis found themselves collectively relaxing for what felt like the first time since New Years’ Eve.

Rodrigue took up the seat in front of them again towards the seventh inning stretch of the Black Eagles’ game, commenting on this play and that player. “Here’s hoping they can pull this one out,” he said. “It’d be nice to start off the season with a win.”

“If we can strike out von Bergliez, it’s over,” Ingrid said confidently. “They won’t come back in the bottom of the inning.” She paused over her fourth hot dog of the day. “I need to tell Caspar next time Aymr is at band night that his brother is a pain in the ass.”

Annette giggled. “He’ll probably just tell you he already knows.”

Felix snorted. “Yeah, that sounds like Caspar.”

“Aymr…” Rodrigue rolled the word around in his mouth a moment. “That was Edelgard and Hubert’s band, yes?”

“I’m surprised you remember that,” Felix said. Were he a different Fraldarius son, he might almost sound impressed.

“It was like half of Christmas dinner!” Dimitri argued from back in Atrocity’s row.

Felix’s brow furrowed. “Was it?”

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember,” Sylvain said. “I kinda owe you for ruining that day, Fe.”

Rodrigue immediately shot _that_ down: “Nonsense.” 

“Yeah, dude.” Felix nudged Sylvain’s ribs with his very bony elbow. “I told you, I live to fuck with people—your dad included.”

“You can owe me, instead,” Dimitri joked, patting Sylvain on the shoulder as he got to his feet. “I had to figure out how to fold a fitted sheet for your ass.”

“Woe betide the crown prince!” Sylvain put a dramatic hand to his head, as if faint. “He had to fix his own mess!”

“Shut the fuck up,” Felix barked, although there was little malice in it, especially when the rest of the group started laughing.

“Yea, verily,” Dimitri agreed gravely. “Anyway, if anyone needs me, I’m going to go drown my woe in another beer.”

Byleth tugged at his arm. “Bring me one, would you?”

“Yeah, sure. You’ve been drinking the stout, right?”

The next several moments all seemed to happen at once:

A tiny pinprick of red light appeared at the back of Dimitri’s head as he began to climb the stairs away from his band.

Rodrigue’s eyes went wide. _“Mitya! Down!”_

Dimitri turned towards the source of the noise, and caught Rodrigue’s tackle directly in the chest.

The crack of a gunshot sounded across the stadium.

Crimson bloomed across Rodrigue’s grey shirt.

And Felix let off the most bloodcurdling howl this side of Glenn’s death.

For a long, frozen moment, no one—and nothing—moved.

Not the teams.

Not the fans.

And not Rodrigue.

And then the world snapped back into motion as Byleth jumped to her feet, calling for a paramedic with an uncomfortably practiced ease. Beresu began ordering everyone else in the stands down, hands over head, come this way, come on, out of range. Various members of Seiros Security began fanning out, evacuating others, and generally doing what they did best.

Dimitri held onto Rodrigue’s unmoving body, eyes wide in horror as blood bloomed across both of their shirts. “Rodrigue, Uncle Rod,” he muttered. “Stay with me, come on.”

Sylvain moved to restrain Felix around the middle—“_Felix, get down!”—_but the former fencer slipped from his grasp like falling water. He vaulted two rows of seats in an effort to reach his father, but was still too slow.

Rodrigue had grown very still. “Mitya,” he managed, reaching blindly up towards Dimitri’s face. “Are you safe?”

“Yes, I’m fine,” Dimitri said hurriedly. “Rodrigue, we need to—” 

“Good.” Rodrigue shut his eyes and gave a deep, shuddering breath. “Good.”

“_Rodrigue!”_

“My dear boy…” He gave another, deep sigh. “You really do look just like him.”

-)

A surgeon appeared in the waiting room hours after the fact, rubbing hand sanitizer into his hands with a grim expression. “I’m told his son his here?”

“He just left to get coffee.” Annette leapt to her feet. “I’ll go get him.”

She barely even registered the surgeon’s nod as she exited the emergency room lobby. _Felix can’t have gotten that far; he only just left. _He had snapped that anything was better than sitting around moping, and left to find coffee. It had only been Ingrid’s firm hand on her arm that had kept Annette from following. 

“He needs space,” she had said. “Just let him rage.”

Annette regretted listening to her now as she hurried through half-empty hospital hallways, desperately searching for her favorite head of dark hair. He _had _to be around here somewhere, but this hospital was a maze. She had to swallow her pride and ask three separate nurses if they’d seen a navy-haired man, and, if not, where one could find coffee at this hour.

Annette eventually found him staring at a bland mural painted on the wall of the lobby, amber eyes unseeing, coffee in his hands. 

“Hey,” she said softly.

He started anyway.

Wincing, Annette laid her hand on his arm. “The surgeon is looking for you.”

“Got it.” Felix’s voice was very hoarse.

They walked back in silence, Annette not daring to break whatever silence Felix was cultivating, and Felix, unwilling.

The instant they walked back through the emergency room lobby doors, the surgeon zeroed in on Felix’s dark, wild hair.

So similar to his father’s.

“Felix Fraldarius?” the surgeon asked.

“Yeah,” confirmed Aegis’ guitarist.

For a moment, the waiting room held its breath. Sylvain, Ingrid, Annette, Byleth, Beresu—all waiting.

And then the surgeon said, “I’m so sorry—”

“_No!” _Felix crossed the room in moments, his long-legged stride bringing him sharply into the surgeon’s personal space. “_No, no, no, _don’t tell me you’re _fucking _sorry. He’s _fine, _right? He has to be.”

His voice broke on his last words.

The woman at the check-in counter had the phone halfway to her face, but the surgeon remained still. He studied Felix for a long moment, and then something broke in his expression. He set a hand to Felix’s bony shoulder.

“You can come say good-bye,” he said gently.

“_No.” _It was barely more than a whisper now. “You’re full of shit; there’s no way.”

The surgeon patted him on the shoulder, and then let go. “The coffee has to stay.”

Felix wordlessly dropped the entire cup into the waste bin nearby, still hot and barely drunk.

“Do you want someone to come with you?” the surgeon asked. “A friend, the chaplain…?”

Felix swayed on his feet, and then shook his head firmly.

“Okay,” said the surgeon gently, and he led the way into the hospital’s bowels.

The place reeked of antiseptic, and Felix kept tripping over nothing on the starkly clean floor. Why were his boots too big for his feet, again? 

A moment later, he remembered they had once been Glenn’s.

“Don’t be alarmed by all the tubing and machines,” the surgeon said. “The nurses should be taking care of them, now.”

Felix nodded. Something cold had spread across his chest and had gripped his lungs, his throat, his heart, and he could no longer speak. 

His father looked so small in that hospital bed. He had never been larger than life the way Dimitri’s dad had been, but there was still a great _muchness _to him. A name to live up to, a legacy to uphold, a duty.

He was the Shield of Faerghus, after all. More counted on him than Felix would ever know.

“You don’t have to just stand there, if you don’t want to,” a passing nurse told him. “You can sit next to him, if you like.”

A shudder ran through Felix’s body. The surgeon had gone again, and he was utterly devoid of familiar faces, except for the one on the gurney at which he couldn’t stop _staring_.

He should have brought Annette. 

He should have brought Sylvain and Ingrid.

His uncle should be here.

His fucking _father _should be here.

The nurse was suddenly beside him again. Although she surely saw this every day, her voice was kind. “Take his personal belongings with you when you go, okay?” She gestured to a plastic bag over near the door. “It’ll make your life easier later.”

Felix nodded numbly. Why were they talking to him about his dad’s _shit _when his _body _was just… laying there? Not moving? Not _breathing? _Not…

The surgeon reappeared. “Felix, a man claiming to be your uncle has just arrived…?”

Felix nodded, still staring at his father’s irritatingly peaceful expression. “Yeah,” he managed hoarsely. “I called him.”

His father didn't stir at the sound.

-)

The next half an hour was a blur of Piers' unhelpful blubbering and the surgeon walking them through next steps in a room without a dead body in it. Even talk of funeral homes and organ donation wasn't enough to make it sink in.

His Dad was dead.

Like Glenn.

Like Mom.

Like Cecelia.

And Felix was very much alone.

-)

“Oh,” Felix said when he was released into the lobby again. “I’m surprised you're still here.”

He immediately received a punch in the arm. “Don’t be stupid,” Ingrid snapped. Her eyes were red and puffy. “Of course we weren’t leaving you here alone.”

“Where are you staying tonight?” Piers asked. He still seemed dazed.

“We figured we’d get a hotel or something,” Sylvain said. “We’re not, um, driving home like this.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Felix muttered. “My Dad’s house has plenty of spare rooms.”

_And no dad, _hung in the air between them.

“Why don’t you stay with us?” Piers hastened to add. “I’ll call Amy now.”

Annette released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d held. “That sounds lovely, if you don’t mind.”

“Of course we don’t,” Piers said at once.

“My car is still in the parking garage at Gronder Field,” Sylvain said, scratching at the back of his neck. “Ingrid and I were gonna go get it if that’s okay with you, Fe?”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” Felix snapped dully.

Sylvain shrugged. “I don’t know what you need.”

“Everyone to stop fucking staring at me would be nice.”

Piers, Annette, and Ingrid all immediately cast their eyes elsewhere. 

“They asked if anyone else wants to see him before they move him,” Felix added, much more quietly. “You can go if you want.”

“Okay,” said Sylvain.

“Let’s do that,” Ingrid said, her voice a fraction of its usual volume.

“Someone should tell Dimitri,” Piers said, and Felix winced.

“Tell me what?”

Atrocity’s frontman had returned to the waiting room, coffee in hand. He looked to Piers expectantly, and Felix noticed he hadn’t even changed his fucking shirt. There was blood all down his front, dried now, glaring.

“If you want to go see my brother,” Piers said, quietly, “now's the time.”

“Great,” said Dimitri, distantly. “I will.”

Something raw and furious broke through the chill that had settled into Felix’s bones.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” He was suddenly standing in front of Dimitri, visibly shaking, dwarfed by the blond man. “Haven’t you done enough to my family?”

A hush fell across the waiting room, punctured only by Ingrid’s quiet “_Felix!”_

But Dimitri was only staring at Felix, a strange expression settling across his face. 

“I know,” he finally said, something unbearably raw in his voice. “That’s why I have to apologize.”

“The dead can’t fucking hear you!”

Piers shut his eyes in a motion so like Rodrigue, it made Felix’s chest physically ache. 

“No,” said Dimitri quietly, “but you can.”

A sharp crack resounded across the waiting room, and then Felix was slipping out the door, ignoring how the patient coordinator yelped in surprise and started dialing hospital security. 

“Stop!” Dimitri called hoarsely, cradling his bruised jaw. “It's okay. I deserved that one.”

The coordinator paused, her hand over the phone. “That was assault.”

“That’s just… how he is,” Dimitri said distantly. “Please, it’s fine. I’d like to see my uncle now, if that’s okay?”

And though the world moved around her, Annette was dissonant, avoiding the pull towards the hospital rooms and instead pushing outwards, after Felix. 


	29. The One Where Felix Breaks his No Cigarettes Streak

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "The End of All Things" by Panic! At the Disco

It didn’t take long her long to find him in the deserted hospital. Night had settled in a long time ago, and the only people left now were the actual doctors, and those waiting on news of a tragedy. 

Like them. 

“Felix!” Annette called when she spotted his navy head of hair standing in a windowed alcove. 

He didn’t look at her, didn’t move. Couldn’t. 

“I know I shouldn't have punched him,” Felix said hoarsely. “You don’t have to lecture me about it.”

Annette recoiled, coming to a skidding halt beside him. “Oh, I’m not here for that.”

Felix’s head whipped around to study her. There was something awful in that amber-eyed gaze, but Annette didn’t look away.

“I know you know better than that,” she added. “And besides, Ingrid will take care of your lecture later.”

Felix stared at her. “Then why are you here?”

I occurred to Annette what that thing was, in his gaze. 

_Grief._

She knew it well.

“I’m here because you’re not okay.” Felix opened his mouth to argue, but Annette barreled right through him. “And I will _stay _here, because you’re not okay. So don’t even think about telling me to piss off. I won’t do it.”

For a moment, Felix continued to stare sullenly at his tiny, redheaded girlfriend. There were words stubbornly forming on the tip of his tongue, but all the air felt like it had been crushed out of his lungs by a trash compressor and suddenly he couldn't breathe. He was aware that he was gasping, and that the room was spinning, and that he’d somehow stepped back to lean against the heavy hospital wall, but he couldn’t _feel _any of it, couldn’t _hear _Annette speaking to him.

He was barely aware he was having a panic attack until Annette said it. 

“Oh, what am I saying? Of course, you’re having a panic attack.” She was doing that jittery thing she did with her hands when she didn’t know what to do, and Felix wanted to reach out, tell her it’s fine, he’s fine, everything’s fine.

But his body wouldn't even breathe, much less listen to him.

She continued to make increasingly distressed noises until she finally burst out—”I’m here! I’m here. I don’t know what to do, _but I’m here!”—_and yanked him to the fiercest hug Felix had maybe ever received.

For a moment, he could barely stand.

But then his arms settled around her shoulders and he pressed his forehead into the crook of her neck, and he crushed her, wildly, desperately, to his chest. Annette felt his breathing even out, and the weight on her shoulders lifted, just a little. 

And then his breathing hitched, and he released a noise she had never heard from him before. It took her a moment of internal panic to realize what the accompanying wetness was, and it was all she could do to hold on as tightly as she possibly could.

His sobbing echoed softly in the hall.

-)

Dimitri had tried—_Lord, _had he tried—very hard not to get roped into staying with Piers and the rest of Aegis that night, but every polite deflection was met with even more insistence from Piers. And, as ever, the Eisner Twins were of no particular help in the social cues department.

And so that was how Dimitri found himself sitting outside on the wrong Fraldarius brother’s porch while Aegis watched the entire _Shrek _series in a dog pile on the living room floor.

It was cold and it was quiet, two things which Dimitri much preferred. He hadn’t bothered with the porch light, since between the kitchen light leaking through the window, and the moon and stars, he could see just fine. He could just barely make out the silhouette of a few trees and a swing set further beyond in the yard, and Piers and his wife had a comfy outdoor couch he’d made something of a nest in.

He had originally called Dedue, and then Edelgard, and then Hubert, and then had stared at reddit for so long the posts were all beginning to run together and his focus was growing indistinct. It was very late; surely Aegis had passed out enough for him to head back inside? That sounded like a promising concept. 

But really, if he were being honest with himself, it was only Felix who needed to be passed out for Dimitri to sneak back inside, find a blanket, and then a corner to curl up in. But Felix was also the one most likely to still be awake.

They’d had a lot of conversations after Sylvain had fallen asleep, as kids.

“Hey.”

Dimitri yelped, and nearly started off the couch. He had completely missed the porch door opening. “Felix! You startled me!”

Felix was wrapped up in the Blue Lions sweatshirt he’d worn to the game, and for once, wasn’t snarling at him. Without the bluster, Dimitri was reminded that Felix was actually very slight, especially compared to the weight of what he carried.

And also compared to him and Sylvain.

“I’msorryIpunchedyou.” It came out all in one breath.

Dimitri was taken aback. “I beg your pardon?”

Felix gave an annoyed sigh, and then drew in an exaggerated breath. “I’m. sorry. I punched you.”

Although the bruise on his jaw throbbed, Dimitri said, “No need, no offense taken.”

They started at each other for a long, awkward moment.

“Well, that was it.” Felix immediately turned to go.

And Dimitri felt his childhood best friend slipping through his fingers, and he couldn’t handle it. Not again, not tonight.

“Wait!”

Felix froze, his hand on the sliding door. He said nothing, but made no move to open it, either.

It occurred to Dimitri that he had no idea what to say. The burden of avenging Rodrigue fell to them, now, but although there was a fire burning in his belly, it felt irreverent, tonight. Rodrigue’s screaming ghost would still be here in the morning, but this shared, quiet grief would not.

Without his anger, though, Dimitri barely knew what to be.

“Well?” Felix demanded a few moments later.

“I… didn’t think I’d get this far,” Dimitri admitted.

Felix snorted, and turned back to face him. “I’m surprised you want to talk to me.”

“Why wouldn't I?” Dimitri’s brow furrowed. “I never stopped.”

Felix shot him the dirtiest look in his arsenal. “Why do you always make it sound like we broke up?”

“I, um...” Dimitri coughed. “…suppose we sort of did? Friend breakups are just as bad as romantic ones.”

“Friends don’t break up, dumbass, they just… stop.”

“Actually,” Dimitri said, “I take it back. I think friend breakups are worse.”

“Whatever.”

And there went Felix, shutting him out again. This was the longest non-hostile conversation they’d probably had in years, and it was coming to a screeching halt for… what? Dimitri didn’t know, and he was so, so tired of this dance. But he was never the one leading, and he could never shake the knowledge that he deserved to be held at arm’s length, anyhow.

“I miss him already,” Dimitri offered after a moment.

Felix didn’t have to ask whom he meant. “Give me a minute, I probably will, too.”

Another moment of silence, but somehow, a less awkward one.

“I’m so sorry,” Dimitri burst out. “This is…”

“Shut up.”

Dimitri shut his good eye to the truth, but it came out of his mouth anyway. “This is all my fault.”

“Don’t be a shit. You didn’t ask to be shot at this time any more than you did the last one. If anything, this should probably tell you to invest in Kevlar.”

Dimitri’s eye snapped open again, studying Felix’s shadowed face, looking for confirmation that—”Did you just… make a joke?”

Felix shrugged, and Dimitri gave a short, astonished laugh. It seemed he’d missed out on a lot, in the last year.

Felix made a face, and muttered, mostly to himself, “_Damn, _I wish I had a cigarette. I’ve been wanting one all night.”

Dimitri immediately set about rummaging in his pockets, and, after a moment, came up with a crumpled pack of Fimbulvetrs. He took one for himself, and then wordlessly held the rest out.

The peace offering hung between them, delicate as a spider’s spun web.

“Thanks,” Felix muttered, taking one.

Dimitri rummaged around in his other pocket and eventually came up with his lighter. He lit his own, and nearly gestured for Felix to lean forward before thinking better of it, and passing the little metal box over to him.

Felix lit his own with a practiced ease, and took a drag for the first time since college. He shut his eyes and, for a moment, almost looked like the storm in his mind had passed.

Then he handed the lighter back to Dimitri. “Was that your dad’s?”

“Yeah.” Dimitri pocketed it. “Your dad wanted me to have it, when I went to college.”

Felix snorted. “_God, _I don’t even want to think about how much weed our dads must’ve smoked in college.”

Dimitri choked on his laughter, fumbling the cigarette out of his mouth before he burned himself—or worse, dropped it. 

Felix eyed him warily. “Easy there, dumbass.”

This time Dimitri cackled, and got his words out around wheezes. “I just… wanna know… who can confirm it?”

Felix pulled a thinking face. “Sylvain’s mom, I think?”

That sobered Dimitri right up. “Yeah, probably.”

It occurred to Dimitri that Sylvain’s parents would likely be at the funeral. They _should _be at the funeral, by all accounts, but it would probably be the first time Sylvain had seen them since Christmas, and it would _definitely_ be the first time Dimitri would come face to face with Valentín Gautier since telling him off over the phone.

He didn’t relish it.

He took a long drag on his cigarette to buy himself some time before he made Felix blow up again. It was nice, hanging out like this again. Familiar. Kind of homey.

Then Dimitri bit the bullet.

“Hey, Felix,” he said. “I’d like to be at the wake, and the funeral, if that’s not—"

“Of course you should be there,” Felix interrupted. “He’d want you there.” Dimitri opened his mouth to say thanks, and nearly missed when Felix added, very quietly, “He loved you more than he loved me.”

Dimitri felt his heart break. Physically, painfully, break. He opened his mouth to refute it, to put a stop to that awful train of thought, but a new voice wafted over from the doorframe:

“Hey, deadbeats!”

Both Felix and Dimitri turned to find a tousle-haired Annette silhouetted in the doorframe.

“Hey, ‘Nette,” Felix called softly. 

Dimitri had to shove his cigarette back in his mouth to stop himself from smiling at the undisguised affection in his old friend’s voice. 

“It’s freezing out here,” she said, now coming out onto the porch with them. “If you’re done ruining your lungs, we’re starting the next movie.”

Felix eyed the remains of his cigarette, took another big drag, and then flicked it off the porch. He ground it into the grass under his boot, and then stooped to pick up the smoldering remains. 

Annette glanced to Dimitri, who was still standing on the porch with his own cigarette. “You don’t have to sit out here all night, you know.”

“I was thinking of going to bed,” Dimitri said, “wherever that ends up being.” 

“Uncle Piers set up air mattresses and I think some sleeping bags in the basement,” Felix said. “Go pick one.”

“That sounds _way _better than sleeping on an armchair somewhere,” Dimitri admitted.

Dimitri heard them turn to go, and went over to the grass to repeat Felix’s overcomplicated cigarette snuffing method. By the time he was finished, he expected to be alone again, but he was nearly startled off the porch for the second time that evening when he turned to find Annette still standing there.

“Sorry!” she said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I just, I wanted to ask—how’s your face?”

Dimitri snorted. “It’s fine. Nothing doing.”

Annette made a face like she didn’t quite believe him. “Okay. Piers told me to tell you there are some ice packs in the freezer, if you want one.”

“I shouldn’t need one, but thank you.”

Annette studied him for another moment, and it made Dimitri wonder what she saw. A one-eyed monster? A shaggy Viking? A beast?

He genuinely _was _startled off the porch when Annette drew him into a fierce hug. 

She let go just as quickly, offering a sheepish, “Sorry, I probably should have asked, but the Eisners don’t seem like huggy people and you just seemed like you could really use one.” She paused. “Don’t tell Felix?”

Dimitri laughed at her retreating form, and wondered how Aegis had gotten so lucky.


	30. The One Where Dimitri Does Something Stupid

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Too Loud," by Icon for Hire

The next several days passed in a moody, dreamlike blur. Felix remembered Annette coaxing him to eat, to sleep, to watch a movie at various points, but mostly, he curled up in a corner of his uncle’s house and tired very hard not to think. He missed his guitar, missed his corner of the universe, missed his dad.

All of which made the wake even more painful because it was _not _a blur. It was the first time Felix had seen his father since that night in the hospital, and seeing him waxy and sunken in his casket was probably going to be seared into his brain forever in a way Glenn hadn’t been.

Before the wake started, Aegis anxiously stood together in the one end of the funeral parlor, tugging at shirt collars and skirt hems. Felix had brought the one suit he owned out of mothball, and Sylvain, for once, had opted for a black suit, instead of a white one. Ingrid was wearing a sleek, dark dress she’d had to borrow from her sister-in-law, and Annette was wearing the elegant, black dress she typically wore for choir concerts and conducting.

“Do you want Ingrid and me up here with you, Fe?” Sylvain asked. “Or do you want us on crowd control?”

“I don’t care,” Felix said softly, tugging at his cufflinks. He could have sworn this suit fit the last time he’d worn it, but right now it felt stifling. “Whichever.”

“Why don’t you guys crowd control?” Annette said. “I’ll be up here with Felix and his aunt and uncle.”

Ingrid nodded firmly, stubbornly ignoring the tears already forming in the corners of her eyes. She and Annette had gone back and forth about whether they’d even wanted to wear makeup today, with Ingrid eventually forgoing and Annette eventually going with a subtle palette. Ingrid had, quite simply, not wanted to be running to the bathroom to fix it all afternoon, but Annette wanted to look as pulled together as possible.

They weren’t surprised when the very first people to arrive were Dimitri, Dedue, and Mercedes.

“I’m so sorry for your loss, Felix,” Mercedes said after shaking his aunt and uncle’s hands, too. It was the first of many times Felix would hear that phrase, today. “Your father always seemed so kind.”

“Thanks,” Felix said, numbly.

Dedue stiffly shook his hand. “It is a cold day to lose one’s parents.”

Felix studied him a moment, but as ever, Dedue’s stony face betrayed nothing. “Yeah,” he agreed. “Yeah, it is.”

“I’ll be by with dinner at least once this week,” Mercedes added. “Would you prefer a breakfast casserole or baked ziti?”

“You don’t need to do that,” Felix said, at the same time Annette said, “Thanks, Mercie.”

Mercedes leveled Felix in a look that made him weep internally for any future children she may have. “Either is fine,” he eventually muttered, ducking away from her steely gaze.

Satisfied, Mercedes pulled them both into a hug and then departed.

Dimitri wrung his hands as he approached Felix and Annette, clearly uncomfortable and not knowing what to do. He eventually settled for reaching one large hand out. “I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

Hesitantly, Felix reached out to shake it. “I already told you it’s not your fault, now shut up about it.” 

Annette gave Dimitri a huge hug that Felix side-eyed her for, but he said nothing. Dimitri squeezed back firmly this time, relief slithering through his insides. She had been right, the other day. He’d had no idea just how much he needed a hug, these days, until he’d suddenly been granted one.

After Dimitri continued on, Felix quickly lost track of how quickly the room filled with people here to pay their respects to the Shield of Faerghus.

Sylvain’s parents were fashionably late, as usual.

His mother pulled Felix into a limp hug, genuine tears streaming down her face and streaking her makeup. “I’m so sorry, Fe,” Gabriella Gautier sobbed, and she seemed worlds away, “I’m so, _so _sorry. Rodrigue was always too good for us. Astrid, too.”

Valentín Gautier stiffly shook his hand, as though this were the end of some uncomfortable-but-necessary business deal. “Thanksgiving will truly never be the same.”

They had sent the largest flower arrangement near the casket, Felix knew, but he wondered if Sylvain’s dad did.

Felix tried to keep an eye on them as they continued on, but quickly lost them amidst the calling line. Mercifully, Ingrid was on it, stubbornly standing between Sylvain and his father when his mother finally found her son in the crowd.

At one point, the Eisner twins arrived with their dad, professor Jeralt from Garreg Mach. They offered quiet condolences and assurances that Rodrigue had been a good man and a great boss, and Felix’s stomach soured to hear it. He knew they meant well, but he didn’t need to hear how his father died a hero, too.

Jeralt didn’t say any of that, though. He just clapped Felix hard on the back and told him, “Shit gets easier.”

Felix wanted to ask when, but he couldn’t make his throat work.

At one point, Claude and Hilda showed up, although Felix had to do a double take because he barely recognized them in their nice clothes. Claude was wearing a mustard yellow blazer that was still somehow stylish, and if Hilda’s hair hadn’t still been vibrantly pink, Felix probably wouldn't have recognized her in her elegant black dress.

“This is complete bullshit,” Claude said, clapping Felix hard on the shoulder. 

Relief cloaked his lungs; it was so good to hear something other than apologies. “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Hilda could only stare at him for a moment, a strange expression settling over her face, and then she drew him into a huge hug and promised that his next beers were on the house.

Claude made a face at her but didn’t contradict.

The receiving line fell into a rhythm that made Felix want to scream—and he would have, but for Annette’s steady presence beside him. She fearlessly introduced herself to various aunts and uncles from his mom’s side, cousins from his dad’s, Ingrid’s brothers and their wives, Ingrid’s dad, and anyone else who came out of the woodwork without so much as batting an eye. She told each and every one that she wished it could have been under better circumstances, and to keep Felix and his uncle’s family in their thoughts.

It did something to his chest, but Felix was in no state to poke at it.

He supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised when Aymr showed up, all dressed to the elegant, still-gothic nines, but he was. Caspar gave him a hug so fierce, Felix felt his spine crack in three places, and then Caspar told him that the Black Eagles baseball team had offered to pay for the funeral. The manager was probably on the phone with the funeral director now.

Petra took Felix’s face in her calloused hands, and made him look her in the eye and promise not to start drinking too much or smoking again, or she would start showing up at their house at five a.m. again for training and conditioning. Annette had to help him pry her off before he had another panic attack in front of all of these people.

Hubert shook his hand stiffly, murmuring somewhat apologetically, “I’ve never been much for condolences.”

Felix waited for the end of a sentence that never came. And when it finally struck him that it wasn’t going to, he burst into startled laughter.

Hubert was taken aback. “That… wasn’t meant to be funny.”

“That was fucking hilarious, dude,” Felix wheezed, leaning onto Annette as he continued to cackle. People were staring now, and he couldn't find it in him to care.

“I, um.” Hubert seemed at a genuine loss for words, and latched onto the first thing of any substance. “The funeral director here is an excellent mortician. Even my father can’t find a bad thing to say about his work.”

Felix was surprised to find that was actually a relief. “That’s... good to hear.”

Edelgard wrung her hands much like her stepbrother had, but eventually settled for putting both of her hands on Felix’s shoulders and squeezing tight enough to bruise. “I’m so, _so_ sorry,” she said, her face deathly serious. “I just… I can’t believe it.”

“Yeah, same,” Felix said hoarsely, tugging at her hands.

But Edelgard dug her fingers into his shoulders. “My apartment is always open, okay? Bring Annette, bring Sylvain or Ingrid; we can watch a movie or play Super Smash Bros or something whenever you need to get your mind off of things.”

Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, and Felix remembered it had only been a few months since they’d toasted Papa von Hresvelg in the Golden Deer.

“Thanks,” he managed, and stopped tugging at her hands.

She squeezed his shoulders again—“And don’t let the shitheads tell you how to grieve.”—and then let go

As Edelgard spoke with Felix, Hubert leaned over to Annette and said, quietly, “Don’t let his eyes go dead.”

Her eyebrows lifted, but she nodded firmly. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The room continued filling with people, some of which Felix recognized and greeted somewhat warmly, some of which he didn’t and greeted somewhat stiffly. The sheer number of people who worked with his dad and came to pay their respects, who told him Rodrigue was a good man, a hero, the best head of security they’d ever worked with, was almost too much to bear.

And even though he’d graduated from Garreg Mach and knew them somewhat, it was no easier to hear from Rhea Bishop and her brother, Seteth. She clasped his hands like some kind of saint, looking directly into his eyes and freezing a startled Felix in place.

“He was a _good_ man,” she said, putting extra emphasis on the operative word. “We are all lesser for his loss, which I’m certain you must feel most acutely.”

“Carnage will never quite feel the same without Rodrigue,” Seteth added, mercifully without feeling the need to touch Felix anywhere. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”

After they moved on, Annette leaned into him to murmur, “Are you doing okay?”

“This sucks,” he muttered back.

Although she had already reached out for his hand, Felix still started when she began rubbing soothing circles into the back of it. He would never get used to how gently she treated him.

“We’re halfway there,” Annette said. “Only another hour and some change.”

Felix almost said he never wanted to do this again, but knew, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he had no one left to wake for—no mother, no little sister, no brother, and now, no father.

“I’m half-surprised Arundel hasn’t shown up yet,” Felix muttered. “You’d think he’d be dying to get in good with Seiros after this one.”

“Keep that in a thought bubble,” Annette said, “and maybe he won’t hear you.”

“Felix,” came a calm, cool voice he’d know anywhere. “How are you holding up?”

“Hey, coach.” He couldn't smile, not now, but it was about as close as he’d yet come. “‘Bout as well as you’d think.”

Shamir cocked to a hip and held her hand out expectantly. She leveled him in a stern look Felix had earned many, many times over the course of his years at Garreg Mach, and for a brief, absurd moment, Felix panicked about missing due dates for essays and reading assignments.

“I don’t have any cigs,” he said, truthfully. 

“Good.” Shamir straightened up, and looked to Annette. “You make sure he doesn't restart that habit. I finally stomped it out of him his junior year.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Annette said. “He won’t.”

“Good.” The ghost of a smile flickered across Shamir’s sharp face. “Well Felix, looks like you found yourself a good one.” Annette flushed a brilliant crimson, but Shamir wasn’t finished. “And speaking of, I’m not sure you ever met my wife. So, Felix, this is Catherine. Catherine, this is Felix, one of my old fencing students.”

It was only then that Felix became aware of a blonde woman around his coach’s age lurking just behind Shamir. She was dressed in a smart black suit and heels, and, for some reason, Felix couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d seen her, somewhere.

But it wasn’t until she opened her mouth that he put two and two together.

“Hi, Felix,” she said, holding out one calloused hand. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

His jaw dropped and he barely had the presence of mind to reach out to shake. _“Thunderstrike Cassandra?” _

She looked taken aback, but pleasantly so. She glanced to Shamir, asking, “Is this the kid that was in the band?”

“One of them,” Shamir confirmed.

And then Felix was pulled into a crushing hug by his childhood guitar idol at a goddamn wake, and it was, perhaps, the weirdest thing that had ever happened to him.

“Aegis, yeah?” Catherine pulled back to hold him at arm’s length. “I know she’s probably never said it, but Shamir is so proud of you guys.”

Felix’s grieving brain shorted out.

Thunderstrike Cassandra _knew his band?_

“_Thanks, _Catherine,” Shamir said flatly. “Let’s stop holding up the line, now.”

Shamir was just shooing her wife—his old coach was_ married t_o Thunderstrike Cassandra _and had never told him?—_towards the casket when Felix happened to glance up, and spotted a familiar shock of red hair just coming in the room.

A familiar shock of red hair _on the wrong head._

Ingrid spotted it a few seconds after he did, and immediately began pushing Sylvain out of the room. He struggled for a moment, but eventually went limp with shock, and allowed himself to be meekly led from the shared morning space.

“Is that...?” Annette asked, unable to bring herself to say it

Before Felix had the chance to answer, he spotted Dimitri crossing the room with his long-legged stride, face an inscrutable mask beneath his shaggy, blond bangs.

“Get out,” Dimitri barked.

The room had gone deathly quiet.

Miklan held his hands up, palms out to stop Dimitri before he got into his personal space. “Easy there, Mitya. I’m just here to pay respects, same as you.” 

It was the strangest thing, seeing Dimitri at the same height as their collective childhood bully. Miklan, Frode, and Glenn had always seemed so _big, _growing up--especially Miklan, who liked to throw his weight around when the other two weren’t looking.

Seeing Dimitri go toe-to-toe with him made Felix wonder if he’d ended up taller than Glenn, after all.

“Read the room,” Dimitri growled, low in his throat like an Atrocity song. “_Get out.”_

“Ain’t your call, if I remember correctly,” Miklan said flippantly, stepping around Dimitri. “Much as you’d’ve loved it, you ain’t a Fraldarius.”

Dimitri reached out, physically barring his way with one arm. 

“_Don’t,” _Miklan barked, “touch me.”

“Easy now, Dimitri,” said Valentín Gautier, putting himself between the two. “This isn’t the place.”

“Correct,” Dimitri said. He seemed to have retreated somewhere deep inside himself.

Felix refused to let them start a war here.

“_Miklan!”_

Felix felt all eyes on the room fall to him, and it was enough to make him want to crawl into a ditch and never come back out.

“Hey, Little Frad,” Miklan called back.

For a moment, Felix faltered. He knew what the right thing to do was, even for Miklan Gautier, but he had no desire to do it. 

“Casket’s behind me,” Felix finally said. “You have five minutes.”

-)

Fury clung to Dimitri’s lungs as Miklan knelt at Rodrigue’s casket. He shouldn’t be here, didn’t deserve even the barest courtesy Felix had provided. He should have been six feet under with a bullet in his brain—but guns were outlawed in Fhirdiad.

“Dimitri?” Edelgard’s cool, collected voice cut into his thoughts. “Are you alright?”

Dimitri managed a tight smile. “I’m fine.”

Hubert shot him a look that very much said he was full of shit.

“Miklan is an unpredictable piece of shit,” Dimitri said. “He shouldn’t be here.”

“I’m sure Felix just didn’t want him to cause a scene,” Edelgard offered.

Hubert had rearranged himself in their little trio to be able to study Miklan without raising a fuss. “I do wonder where that scar came from,” he said.

“Probably a lance or something,” Dimitri said. At the looks he received, he added, “Guns may be illegal in Fhirdiad, but weapons aren’t.”

Understanding flickered across Hubert’s face, and Dimitri could practically see the cogs turning in his mind.

“Have you any news on who did it, Hubert?” Edelgard asked, her voice pitched very low. It was nearly lost, even to them, amidst the general chatter of the funeral parlor.

“Nothing solid,” Hubert replied, just as quietly. “You’ll be the first to know when I do.”

Dimitri checked his phone again for the time. _Five minutes. _“Excuse me.”

Miklan clearly wasn’t expecting them to make good on the five minuets rule, because when Dimitri clapped a firm hand to his shoulder and announced his time was up, Miklan glanced back, stunned.

“The fuck?” he said.

“Felix gave you five minutes,” Dimitri said. “Your time. Is up.”

Miklan, visibly irritated, got to his feet. “Who died and made you governor?” 

Dimitri’s eyes narrowed, but he refused to rise to the bait. “We had better not see you at the funeral.”

“That ain’t your call,” Miklan told him.

“We don’t want you there.”

Both Dimitri and Miklan were stunned to find Annette suddenly in their midst. She folded her arms across her tiny frame, blue eyes like flint.

“And while Felix might not want to make a scene,” Annette hissed, “Dimitri and I sure will.”

Dimitri’s hand bit down into Miklan’s shoulder.

“Don’t threaten me with a good time,” Miklan told her with a nastier version of Sylvain’s most charming grin. “You couldn’t handle it.”

Dimitri grabbed Miklan’s other shoulder and shoved. “Get. _Out.”_

“Don’t you already have assault charges pending?” Miklan asked, although he did, by the grace of God, start to head towards the door. “Do you really want more?”

“There’s not a cop in Fhirdiad who would blame me for this one,” Dimitri physically put himself between Miklan and the grieving family, praying that Ingrid had gotten Sylvain further away than just the hallway. 

They both started when Annette thumped the door shut behind them, leaving Dimitri and Miklan in the hallway of the funeral parlor, alone. They stared at each other for a moment, minds reeling.

Miklan recovered first, slamming one ring-covered fist into Dimitri’s unarmored stomach. Dimitri doubled over with an “Oof!”, a bruise already forming between where his fingers grasped his stomach.

“You’re lucky I got what I needed,” Miklan told him, now towering over Dimitri like he had when they were kids. He grabbed Dimitri’s half-ponytail and yanked him down further. “_And_ that I left my pistol in the car.”

Bile rose in Dimitri’s throat, even as pain rattled across his skull. “Fuck off.”

Miklan smiled that oh-so-charming Gautier smile again, and it twisted around his scar. “_Manners_, Mitya.”

He let go, then, leaving Dimitri doubled over in the hallway. Miklan ran into his parents on the way out, and chatted with them more warmly than Sylvain ever had. Like he hadn’t just assaulted someone thirty feet beyond and crashed a wake.

Dimitri barely made it to a trashcan before he vomited up the entire contents of his stomach.

-)

Annette was waiting for Felix outside the funeral director’s office after the wake. He seemed surprised to find her there, calmly scrolling through her phone on one of the various couches that littered the place.

“I thought you guys all left,” Felix said, hoarsely. “I told you to.”

“I told Sylvain and Ingrid to go on ahead.” Annette got to her feet, tugging her skirt back into place. “I wanted to wait for you.”

For the second time that day, something heavy lodged in his chest.

“You didn’t need to,” he said.

“Well, sure, I didn’t,” Annette said. “I told you, I wanted to.”

He just stared at her, rendered numb and mute.

“Are you hungry?” Annette finally asked, coming over to fuss at him. “We can stop by that taco place for dinner if you want?”

The numbness spread to his throat, threatening to choke him.

“Or not,” Annette said, suddenly unsure. “I just thought…”

For maybe the first time in their relationship, it was Felix who instigated the following bone-crushing hug.

_You’re amazing, _he wanted to tell her. _You just ran a fucking gauntlet meeting everyone I’ve ever known, after dating me for maybe three months, and you’re asking if _I’m_ hungry?_

But he could barely manage a “Sure.” around the knot in his throat.

He felt her smile into his shoulder. “Okay.” She wrapped her arms around his waist and squeezed back just as fiercely as she sang. “Okay.”


	31. The One Where Dimitri Isn't in the Cathedral

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *crawls out of a pile of work emails and projects* I LIVED, BITCHES
> 
> chapter brought to you by "It Walks Among Us," by Coheed and Cambria

Dimitri hovered awkwardly in the vestibule of the cathedral before the funeral mass, waiting until the last possible moment to find the seat the Eisner twins had saved for him.

Partially, it was because he felt weird being on time for a mass. It was genetic, he was fairly certain, that Blaiddyds _had_ to be late. After all, his father had never managed to make it on time, either, and he’d had thirty more years of practice.

But partially, though, it was because he was waiting.

The Galateas were here, the Bishops, the Eisners, the Charon-Nevrands, and about a million others, but the family Dimitri was waiting for was the Gautiers. They had three here already, sitting in various parts of the church, but there was a fourth that Dimitri remained unconvinced wouldn’t show up at the last minute to cause trouble.

It was what he did best, after all.

Felix was, somehow, unthinkably, too tired to fight. Annette didn’t know better. Sylvain shouldn’t be within twenty feet of him. Ingrid, too, for different reasons. Mercedes and Dedue were too kind. The Eisners were too passive. Edelgard was off her own headspace, these days.

And so it fell to Dimitri to stand guard.

At five minutes ‘til, people were beginning to give him dirty looks for lingering, and so Dimitri went to stand outside with a lit cigarette. He knew from experience it would garner fewer stares, although the ones he would get instead were even sharper.

Fhirdiad was cold today, he noted, with grey, overcast skies and the threat of rain. _Rodrigue deserves so much better than this, _he couldn’t help but think. Rodrigue deserved so much better than a splintered family and the lingering threat of a boy he once took in.

“Dimitri.”

He started at the sound of his name, but it was only Dedue.

“They are about to start,” his roommate continued calmly. “Byleth and Beresu are wondering where you are.”

“I’m here,” said Dimitri, quietly. “I’ll be inside in a few; you don’t need to wait for me.”

Dedue paused, and then folded his arms across his broad chest, his suit jacket pulling at his shoulders. His whole being stilled, his presence looming.

And Dimitri sighed. He could never get anything past Dedue. “I’m just worried Miklan will show up. So I thought I’d wait out here, just in case.”

Dedue nodded. “I will wait, then. You head inside.”

Although it made a certain amount of sense, Dimitri would hear none of it. “No, thank you. I have it.”

Dedue fixed him in a patient stare that usually made Dimitri squirm like he was being reprimanded by a teacher, or a parent. “You should be inside. I will wait here.”

How was Dimitri supposed to tell his gentle-natured roommate that he was partially hoping Miklan _would_ show up so that he could crack his skull open, make him bleed, make him _hurt, _like they did? 

“This is not a mosh pit,” Dedue added quietly. “If you throw a punch here, I cannot help you.”

The weight of it sank into the holy ground between them.

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Dimitri said. “This isn’t your fight.”

Dedue studied him for a long moment, something unbearably sad in his green eyes.

“I’m going to turn around,” Dedue finally said. “If you do not come with me, I cannot come back outside.”

Although Dimitri’s brain told him to _go, sit down, pray_, his heart told him that there was another place he was meant to be at the moment.

“I understand,” Dimitri said.

-)

“I think I’ve been to more religious ceremonies in the past week than I have since I went to Garreg Mach,” Sylvain muttered to Aegis beneath the strains of _Gloria, hallelujah._

“Same,” said Felix.

“Same,” said Ingrid.

But Annette only blushed. “I go with Mercie, sometimes.”

The music here was as familiar to Felix as his own face. He grew up on Latin chants and choral hymns, and hearing it now was simultaneously a balm and a knife in the ribs. It was familiar, sure, but it didn’t sound right without his tone-deaf father singing along.

Felix wondered, ambiently, how much of these chords and scales were baked into the fabric of his fingers, how often they came out in Aegis’ work without his even knowing. He could hear Metallica, sometimes, could hear Coheed and Cambria, or Avenged Sevenfold, or Thunderbrand. He supposed it was only logical this might, too.

He wondered how the Gloria would sound screaming on his guitar.

He then immediately wondered if that were sacrilegious.

By the time the homily rolled around, Felix’s attention had started drifting. It was strange, seeing so many of his Metal compatriots in church. He knew for fact Hubert wanted nothing to do with the whole institution, but there he sat beside the rest of his band, arms folded. Felix had also never seen Caspar so subdued, nor Petra so confused. Edelgard kept leaning over to whisper things to her bassist, but it seemed like she came away with mixed results, as Petra’s brow never unfurrowed.

Dorothea was elegant as ever in black lace, and Ferdinand looked as though he were born to wear a three-piece suit. It looked as natural on him as leather jackets and studded belts, and Felix wondered how the rest of them stacked up. Hapi looked only half aware of her surroundings, as she usually did, but Constance was staring dead ahead with rapt attention.

Felix had expected Sylvain’s mother to be weeping and was proven woefully correct. Sylvain’s father seemed to be torn between telling her to leave and the scene he would make by doing so, and so he compromised by passing her tissues from her purse.

Felix had also never seen Shamir cry before, not even when they won states his junior year. Yet his old coach kept surreptitiously wiping her eyes with a black handkerchief, and Catherine kept nudging her, as if to remind her wife of her presence.

Mercedes and Dedue kept quiet vigil behind them, firm at their backs like the rearguard of an army. She had stopped by earlier with both a lasagna and breakfast casserole, each in disposable tins and with instructions for reheating written in neat sharpie across the lids. Felix wouldn’t be surprised if she would up a saint. (Hell, she already was one, in his book.)

He knew the Eisner twins were also sitting behind him, and tried not to feel their unblinking eyes staring into his back.

But decidedly missing from the congregation was one eyepatched eyesore. He had so pitifully asked to come the other night, and Felix had not been cruel enough to tell him to fuck off from Rodrigue’s funeral. But now, the man was nowhere to be found.

Felix leaned backwards over the pew as best he could. “Didn’t Dimitri show up with you guys?”

Mercedes and Dedue both nodded. A note of warning was in Mercedes’ eyes, but Felix dismissed it as talking in church.

“He felt he had business to take care of elsewhere,” Dedue said, a note of warning in his voice.

“What the fuck else could he possibly have to do?” Felix said, earning himself an even sharper glare from Mercedes.

It occurred to him belatedly that he had sworn aloud in church, and so he figured he probably deserved that one.

Sylvain now leaned against the pew, calm as you please, like he was just trying to slip an arm around Ingrid, and then said, very lowly, “It’s Miklan, isn’t it?”

Dedue nodded. “Dimitri seemed convinced he would show.”

Felix started to say “Shit!” but refrained halfway through the word. He earned himself a pity laugh from Mercie, who quickly moved to cover her mouth.

Sylvain and Felix turned back to face forward, and Sylvain leaned over to ask, “Do you want me to go take care of it?”

“You and I would make a scene,” Felix said.

“I’m not saying _we _go, I’m saying _I _go.”

“No.”

It wasn’t Felix who said it, but Annette. She was on her feet, on the move and numb to her bandmates’ tugging and deaf to their whispered calls.

It took her a few tries to find Dimitri (there were so, _so _many doors in this church), and he didn’t seem to notice her even when she did. Atrocity’s frontman leaned against the chilly brick of the church, hunched against the cold and staring straight forward. She could just see the cherry of a lit cigarette beneath the curtain of his blond hair.

“The mass has started, you know,” Annette said.

Dimitri didn’t move, and for a long moment, didn’t speak, either.

“I know.”

“So,” Annette said, coming to a rest beside him, “don’t you think you should be inside?”

Another hefty pause, then, “This seemed more important.”

“What, staring at ghosts?” Annette gestured to the empty, concrete steps of the church.

“Miklan isn’t a ghost.”

“Maybe not, but _you_ might as well be.”

Dimitri whirled on her, towering over her in a way he had never seemed to, before. “What do you know of any of it?” His voice was harsh, like he was coming offstage from a show.

“I know what missing parts feel like,” Annette said, thumping a hand to her heart. “What it feels like when someone who should be here, isn’t. Don’t chase after this.” She gestured, again, to the stairs. “Say goodbye to that.” And then to the church, behind them. “Not everyone gets to say goodbye.”

The iron in Dimitri’s expression wavered. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, abruptly. “I’m sure you know, but your father left because of me.”

“My father left because he’s a spineless asshat,” Annette corrected. “You were just the excuse he used.”

Dimitri stared at her for a good, long moment, and for a breath or two, it seemed like he was going to relent.

And then they both heard the footsteps, dull on the concrete path.

“Didn’t realize I got a whole welcome party,” said a voice that was so, so much like Sylvain’s, and yet so, _so _different. “This a mass or a hearing?”

And then Miklan Gautier stood on the stone steps of the Fhirdiad Cathedral, dressed in a gaudy white suit and more jewelry than was considered tasteful _anywhere_, let alone a funeral.

Annette recovered her voice first: “I thought we told you not to come.”

Miklan pulled a wounded face, like she had physically pained him. “I didn’t think a nice girl like you would genuinely tell me not to come say goodbye to my dear ‘ol Uncle Rod.”

“You thought wrong,” Annette said. “Go.”

“Yeah, no can do, sister.” Miklan brushed past her, only to be stopped when Dimitri put himself bodily between him and the cathedral door. “You don’t wanna be doin’ that, Mitya.”

“I mean, you’re not wrong,” said Dimitri, still unmoving. “And don't call me Mitya.”

Miklan snorted. “It’s your fuckin’ name, isn’t it?”

“The one reserved for people I like, sure.”

“This doesn't have to end in a fight,” Annette said, trying desperately to remember how to deescalate rowdy students.

“Sure don’t,” Miklan agreed. “Just need him to move, and I’ll be on my merry way.”

Something like hunger crossed Dimitri’s lean face. “I’m afraid that won’t be happening.”

“One,” said Miklan, and Dimitri dug his heels in.

“Don’t you dare!” Annette cried.

“Two,” said Miklan, and Dimitri squared his shoulders.

“_Three!”_ said Miklan, and Dimitri shut his eye and braced for impact.

Only it never came.

Annette now stood between Dimitri and Miklan like the resultant force wouldn’t crush her.

“You need to move,” Miklan told her. The sleaze was gone from his voice, replaced with hard, icy edges.

“_You_ need to calm down,” Annette fired back.

“This is between me and Mitya,” Miklan said. “I don’t want to hit you, girly, but if you keep getting in my way, I will.”

Annette stared down the Beast like he was nothing but a paper tiger. “I’m not afraid of you.”

Miklan’s eyes narrowed. “You should be.”

“What’s going on, out here?”

Miklan, Dimitri, and Annette all froze at the sound, but it was only Edelgard, poking her head out of the door.

She zeroed in on Miklan. “Didn’t they tell you to piss off?”

“Jesus,” said Miklan, drawing the word out. “There’s a whole zoo in here. Shouldn’t your vampire be nearby?”

“Present,” said Hubert as he, too, stuck his head out of the cathedral door.

“Jesus,” said Miklan, again 

“How much more of a scene are you willing to make before you piss off?” Dimitri hissed 

“I just came to a fucking_ funeral _to say goodbye to my _uncle,” _Miklan said. “You all need to cool it.”

“You called Rodrigue a sanctimonious prick every time you saw him,” Dimitri argued. “We both know that isn’t why you’re here.” 

“Then why _am _I, oh brilliant, hedge-fund fuck?”

“It doesn't matter,” said Dimitri. “_Leave.”_

“I ain’t leaving!”

“Oh,” said Hubert, “I think you are.”

At that moment, three things happened at once:

Miklan shot forward, shoving Annette out of his way while gearing back for a haymaker.

Annette fell to the ground, scraping her hands hard on the cold concrete.

Hubert shot forward, something small and metallic in his hands.

And once the world began moving again, Miklan howled in pain.

“Oh, you’re bleeding,” Hubert said mildly as he stood behind Miklan. Annette had never thought of Hubert as particularly tall, but now she realized, he was Miklan’s height, Dimitri’s height. “Best get that looked at.”

“Did you just fuckin’ stab me?” Miklan whirled on Hubert, fury in his eyes. 

“No idea what you’re talking about.” Hubert pointedly clicked a switchblade back into place, and pocketed it inside his suit jacket. “Did you hit your head, too?”

Miklan pulled his hand away from his side, and crimson blossomed across his dress shirt. 

“Do you want us to call you an ambulance?” Edelgard said. “Oh, what am I saying? You hit your head; I’ll call you an ambulance.”

“_Don’t you fuckin’—!”_

A sharp crack fell across the stone cathedral steps as Dimitri’s fist connected with Miklan’s skull.

And then Edelgard was on the phone with a dispatcher, explaining in a passably panicked voice that her friend had just been stabbed outside the Fhirdiad Cathedral, and the guy ran off, but her friend was still bleeding pretty badly.

Miklan had fallen dangerously still, collapsing onto Dimitri. It was a testament to the Atrocity’s singer that he was able to even hold Miklan’s sheer bulk upright.

“We’ll be certain to stay with him until help arrives,” Edelgard said into her phone, studying Miklan with eyes as sharp as flint.

-)

After a weeklong gauntlet of “I’m so sorries,” casseroles, and “let me know if you need anything,” Rodrigue Achille Fraldarius was laid to rest beside his wife, daughter, and elder son.

The lone survivor stayed by the grave for a long while as family and friends slowly milled about after the very Catholic burial and interment. They left first in bunches, then in crowds, and then trickled out in ones and twos.

Sylvain clapped a warm, heavy hand to Felix’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go bring the car around, okay? Or do you want me to stay with you, and Ingrid can go?”

“I don’t care,” Felix said, not looking at him.

“Okay,” Sylvain said. “I’ll text you when I’m out front.”

“Got it,” Felix said, unblinking. He barely registered when Sylvain’s hand let go.

He stood before the graves of his entire family, and he couldn’t even find it in him to scream, to cry, to feel. There was nothing left. Not a tear, a shout, a lyric, a riff—nothing.

Or, well, maybe there was something. Anxiety burbled in his stomach, dark and tangled. _How long until I join them?_ He wondered. Was the Fraldarius family just cursed? How long until he lost Sylvain, and Ingrid, and, God forbid, Annette? Or, more likely by the way of things, how long until they lost _him?_

Annette would cry, and Sylvain would cry, but Ingrid would probably scream herself hoarse. She would yell at his stupid corpse about how he was so stupid, how could he leave them? How could he do this to her, to Sylvain, to Annette?

Shamir would probably be at his funeral. The Galateas and Gautiers, too. Would Miklan crash his wake, like he had his father’s, and Glenn’s (since, Felix supposed, he had been too young to ‘crash’ his mother and Cecilia’s, strictly speaking)? 

Was Felix allowed to have one goddamn thing in this world that was _his?_

Footsteps broke his chain of thought, and he saw Dimitri, hands in his pockets, staring at the fresh grave.

Felix wanted to snap at him. _Where were you at the mass? Why did you bother to come in at nearly communion, hiding a bloodstain on your dress shirt? Do you even care?_

_Do you even care that he’s fucking dead because of you? _

“Hey.” Annette softly interrupted his spiraling thoughts. “How are you feeling?”

“Pissed off,” Felix rasped, truthfully.

“I get that.” She squeezed his hand, and again, Felix felt the rough scrapes across her palm. He had asked her what the hell happened when she went to find Dimitri, but she’d told him not to worry about it, they'd talk after mass.

“Are you going to tell me where these came from?” Felix asked, squeezing her hand back pointedly.

Annette winced a little, and he immediately felt worse. “Can I tell you tomorrow? I promise I’m not hiding anything; I can just tell you’re overwhelmed.”

Is that what he felt? Is that what this sickening, all-encompassing, nastiness was?

“I can take it,” Felix said, because he was nothing if not stubborn, and dammit, she was _hurt._

Annette gave a heavy sigh. “How about this—it was Miklan, and you can thank Edelgard and Hubert that you never saw him.”

Felix blinked—once, twice, thrice—and then understood exactly why Annette had tried to balk.

“This is what I…” Annette began, at the same time Felix said, “Y’know what, tomorrow sounds good.”

Annette paused, and then her facial expression softened. “Are you hungry, at all? I know your uncle got Ubert’s to cater the luncheon.”

“No.” It wasn’t strictly true, but it wasn’t a lie, either. “I’m not.”

Annette made a face. “You should still eat something, even a little.”

“I’m not going to the stupid luncheon,” Felix said. “I’ve had enough of dealing with other fucking people over this fucking bullshit.”

“Then what will you do, instead?”

Felix stared at his father’s fresh grave, his brother’s old one, his mother’s, Cecelia’s. Maybe there was something left, where he originally thought there had been nothing,

“Work.”

-)

It hadn’t taken much to twist Sylvain’s arm to get him to drop Felix off at home, and he then promptly told his bandmates to shoo and eat free food. Ingrid had promised to cover for him, and Annette had given him a look like she was about to get out of the car and join him, but Felix stated in no uncertain terms that he needed to be alone.

And so Felix had pushed open the massive double doors to the family manor that, by all rights, was his, now. He had stridden across the inlaid mosaic of the Fraldarius crest, up the sweeping double staircase, past his father’s room, his room, Glenn’s. He had stopped there for only a moment, because Felix knew there was something buried in Glenn’s closet that he needed.

The roof of Fraldarius Manor had not been built to stand on, but that had never stopped Felix or Glenn or (if Lambert were to be believed) Rodrigue. And so Felix now stood on the roof of the house he grew up in, leaning against the wrought-iron filigree, braced against the biting wind of Fhirdiad in mid-March, and he began to play.

His acoustic playing had always been shit, or so Glenn had always told him (not that Glenn’s had ever been much better). They were beings born for electric distortion, for sweeping riffs and crunching arpeggios. But sometimes, Felix needed something raw.

And the rawest voice he knew was his own.

It drifted across the empty landscape as he began to pluck at chords and runs and tried to formulate his thoughts into lyrics.

_Sing for the firstborn, brave and true—_

_Honor-bound and better than you._

_Weep for the firstborn in his grave;_

_But sing for the second son on the stage._

His fingers danced up the fretboard, missing notes and plucking the wrong strings in the cold on this unfamiliar axe, but Felix could hear, in his mind, what this would be, and his heart suddenly felt so much lighter.

Power chords echoed across the frozen wasteland of the Fraldarius’ homestead as her last living son played her dead one’s guitar until his fingers, chapped and frostbitten, bled.


	32. The One Where Life Goes On

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's chapter is brought to you by "Wolf Totem" by the HU

One would think, after a gauntlet of grief and social interaction, that life would put itself on hold for a while. But alas, it did not, and so a week after his father was shot through the chest at a baseball game, Felix Fraldarius was back at work.

He could feel the stares as he entered the office, digging into his back and sizing him up. His hand tightened on his traveler coffee mug, and he bit down on his molars.

This was fine. He would be fine.

He knocked on his boss’ office door, and was immediately told to enter. 

“Good morning,” Felix managed.

“Felix!” She came around her desk and yanked him into a very motherly hug. It was stifling; she always wore too much perfume. “I’m _so _sorry for your loss.”

She let go a moment later, and Felix made an apologetic face. “I’m sorry for yours, too.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. “This is my two weeks’ notice.”

His boss stood there, stunned. “Is this because you need to be in Fhirdiad more often for a while? I can assure you, you don’t need to quit for that. We can certainly work out your schedule for the coming weeks.”

Felix made another face. Why did she have to make this so difficult? “If it were just ‘cause of the house and stuff, maybe that would work. But I…” He paused, and had to take a steadying sip of coffee. “...I have to take over the family business.”

The words were like bloody iron leaving his tongue, weighted and metallic. Seiros Security had always been the last thing in the world that he wanted to deal with, but there was nothing for it, at the moment. His uncle wasn’t remotely qualified to take over, having gone into IT, and Felix and his criminology compromise degree were the only thing labeled Fraldarius that fit the bill.

Felix didn’t see why it had to be a Fraldarius as the head, but Rodrigue had put it in his will, so until he found someone better to take the job, he was stuck with it—alongside everything else labeled “Fraldarius” that nobody knew what to do with.

“I see,” Felix’s boss said after a long moment. “I genuinely am sorry to see you go, but that’s completely understandable. What will you be doing?”

“Running Serios Security, apparently.” Felix switched from one foot to the other, uncomfortable in her scrutiny.

He watched her eyes widen in understanding as puzzle pieces fit together in her mind. “You… were at that baseball game, weren’t you?”

Felix nodded, numbly. “Yeah.”

Her face softened, and he couldn’t stand it, couldn’t sand her pity. “Why don’t you take this week off? We’ll figure out where to redistribute your projects; don’t worry about that.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Felix tried, but she was already shooing him out of her office.

He found himself standing, stupidly, outside her office door, still clutching his coffee mug and wearing his backpack.

He decided he might as well stop by his desk on the way out, might as well start packing his things. He didn’t have many—just a photo of he, Ingrid, and Sylvain from a few years ago at the Golden Deer Christmas Party, and a coffee mug Ingrid had gotten him for something or other that read “world’s okayest brother-in-law.” 

With a jolt, he realized he didn't have anything of Annette, and now, this desk never would.

“Are you leaving us?” came a voice.

Felix glanced up to find Lorenz perched on the edge of his desk, obnoxious purple coffee mug in hand. 

“Yeah,” Felix said. There was no hiding it, but hopefully he’d be gone before the rumors started flying.

Lorenz took a moment to digest this information. “I really am sorry to hear about your dad.”

“Thanks.” Felix thumped a few more things into his backpack with maybe more force than was strictly necessary.

Lorenz didn’t seem to take the hint. “I’m also sorry Thyrsus couldn't make it to the funeral. We wanted to, but…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Felix interrupted. “This kind of shit is always sudden.”

“I’m—”

“Say ‘I’m sorry’_ one more time.” _Lorenz physically recoiled from Felix’s glare, and Felix forced himself to look away. “You didn’t do shit.”

“I know.” Lorenz’s expression softened, not that Felix saw it. “That’s why I’m apologizing. I should have been there.”

“No offense, Lorenz,” Felix said, “but I wouldn’t exactly call us friends. Thyrsus was at the wake; that’s enough. You don’t get brownie points for performative grief.”

“Well, then!” Lorenz huffed, and he turned to stomp back towards his desk.

Felix packed up the rest of what could fit into his backpack in tense, growing silence. 

-)

His phone blew up on the elevator ride back down to the ground door. 

**Annette: **did you guys see we made it???!

Felix started to type “made what?” before it occurred to him. He immediately tapped over to his email. It took its sweet time loading, and after scrolling through a few ads and updates, he found it.

From: Ailell_music_festival@arundelinc.com 

To: adominic@gmu.edu, ingrid.galatea1@gmail.com, ffraldarius@designsense.com, gautierrr_420@gmail.com

Subject: Ailell Music Festival Audition Results

Dear Aegis,

You have been selected as participants in this year’s Ailell Music Festival. Congratulations!

More texts interrupted the email:

**Sylvain: **!! !! !! [cartwheeling emoji]

**Felix: **where the hell did you find that one?

**Sylvain: **…

**Sylvain: **Internet

**Sylvain: **[cartwheeling emoji]

**Ingrid: **[crying laughing emoji]

Felix sighed. He had been already over the whole ‘Ingrid abets Sylvain’s nonsense’ even _before_ they’d started dating. Ever since, it had become _insufferable. _

**Annette: **GUYS GUYS GUYS WE GET TO PLAY

**Annette: **AT FHIRDIAD STADIUM

**Annette: **AHHHH!!!!!!

Felix could picture Annette enthusiastically bouncing off the walls, telling everyone in sight that her band was going to play at Ailell. He smiled into his coffee mug as his phone continued to blow up.

**Sylvain: **so we celebrating or what?

**Annette: **ooo great idea

**Ingrid: **sushi?

**Felix: **do you ever think of anything other than food?

**Felix: **also yes please sushi

**Ingrid: **[tongue sticking out emoji]

**Annette: **we know you’re hungry, but you can put that away for now

Felix nearly choked on his coffee in his haste not to laugh aloud and spit it everywhere.

**Ingrid: **ANNETTE HOW DARE

**Ingrid: **I expect this from the boys, but you, too???

**Annette: **Sorry, had to

**Ingrid**: [gif of Luke Skywalker shouting NOOOOO]

Felix hadn’t been laughing much these days, but the group chat never failed to wring one or two out of him. 

As he approached his car, he wondered, ambiently, what he was supposed to do now with this free time. He could pack, since no matter how you sliced it, he was going to be in Fhirdiad a lot more often soon enough. The thought of all those empty nights in Fraldarius manor filled him with a sick sense of dread, but he supposed it was stupid to rent a hotel room or apartment when he literally owned a house, now. 

He could continue to write the song he’d begun after his father’s funeral, but it was sticking to his tongue and teeth right now, the lyrics dragging themselves out of him like angry ghosts. 

No, he wouldn’t do that right now. 

He wondered when Annette’s lunch break was. Maybe he could get some coffee somewhere and then see her before she had to get to student teaching in the afternoon. He was already, despite his better judgement, counting the moments they had left of both living full time in the same city. It wasn’t like they were breaking up, but an extra hour of distance, plus Annette with no car, meant a lot more video calls in the future and a lot less snuggling. (And although he’d never admit it, he kind of liked the snuggling, liked feeling warm and important.)

His phone went off, and sure enough, it was her. 

**Annette:** hey how’s work going?

Felix considered his answer as he swung into the driver’s seat. 

**Felix: **I gave my boss my two weeks’ and she shooed me out the door on bereavement leave 

**Annette: **oof, I’m sorry :(

**Felix: **why? It’s not your fault 

She really needed to stop apologizing for things that weren’t her fault, but moreover:

**Annette: **im sorry it happened. it sucks. like if you needed more bereavement leave, you’d have taken it, yknow?

**Felix: **exactly 

There was a pause, and Felix started his car and almost put it in gear, but then his phone buzzed again. 

**Annette: **well, now what will you do?

**Felix: **wanna get lunch later?

-)

Quartz looked hilarious in the daylight, or so Felix had always thought, like a horror movie set with the lights flipped on, or someone doing the walk of shame back to their dorm after Halloween. It was strange to see a bar so well-lit to begin with, but the fact that there were only ever 4 people in the place before 5 pm had always struck him as both amusing and kind of sad. 

Annette twisted her straw wrapper between her fingers as they sat at a bar top, menus open between them. Felix noted her worry, and it sang notes of anxiety in the back of his mind. 

“Um, Annette?” he said. “You okay?”

“I’m fine.” She immediately stopped playing with the wrapper. “How are you?”

“Eh,” said Felix. It was the most truthful, least depressing answer he had.

Silence crept over them. 

“Did… did I do something?” he asked, brow furrowing. “I figured you’d be thrilled about Ailell.”

“I _am_ thrilled about Ailell,” Annette insisted.

“But?” Felix prodded. “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

Annette made an annoyed noise. She could never get anything past him. “I realized, we're not going to be able to do this kind of thing anymore for a while, and I’m worried about you going to Fhirdiad all the time, okay?”

Felix was taken aback. “Why? I’m from there; I know it doesn’t bite.”

Annette didn’t even crack a smile, which was how Felix knew this was serious. 

“Annie?”

It all came bursting out: “I’m worried about you driving in the dark all the time, cause it’s winter in Faerghus and snowy and cold, and I’m worried about you being alone a lot, and I’m worried about you taking over Serios Security because you never wanted to, and I’m worried about you being alone in that big, empty house, and… and…”

She was starting to take huge, hiccupping gasps, and Felix found himself off of his barstool and on his feet before his brain even registered the movement. “Whoa, whoa, easy.” He was standing beside her now, hands wringing in his uncertainty of _now what._

He wasn’t left to stress over it long; Annette yanked him forward and buried her head in his collarbone as soon as he was in range. His arms came around her and he just held her there, for a moment.

She said something, and it was lost in his jacket.

“What?” Felix pulled her head back, just a bit. “I couldn't hear that.”

She wouldn't look at him, and her face was blooming a pretty shade of scarlet. “...I’m worried you’ll find someone you like better than me.”

“Not possible,” Felix said immediately.

Annette gave a disgusting-sounding snort, and then detached herself to go find a napkin. She must have expected him to go back to his seat or something, because when she turned back around and Felix was still standing beside her barstool, now with his arms folded across his chest, she gave a tiny “Eep!” of surprise and nearly fell off her barstool.

“It’s not possible,” Felix said again, stubbornly, feeling heat rise in his face even as he said it.

“Sure, it is,” Annette said, quietly. “There are plenty of people prettier and more interesting than me.”

“I doubt it.” 

Annette made a face at him, and he knew she remained unconvinced.

Felix made an exasperated noise. “Would it help you to know Dorothea tried to date me for a while? And I didn’t?”

Annette practically choked on her pop. “She _what?”_

“Yeah, back in college. She and Sylvain have been good friends for ages.”

Annette was struggling to wrap her mind around it. “But Dorothea is so pretty, and so smart, and so musical!”

“Yeah, why do you think Sylvain thought I was ace for a while?”

Annette, despite herself, giggled.

“I’m not, full disclosure,” Felix added. “Just didn’t want to date Dorothea.”

“Why not? You guys get along great.”

“The _actual _Dorothea and I get along just fine,” Felix said. “The front she puts up irritates me to no end.” Annette gave another startled, little laugh, and Felix pulled a lopsided smile. “You seem to forget how easily annoyed I am.”

“I do,” Annette admitted. “You don’t really get that way around me.”

“That’s ‘cause _you’re_ not annoying.”

Annette would later realize that was probably a sign, but at the moment, she was still so stunned by the rest of the conversation it sailed right over her. 

“So don’t worry about me so much, alright?” Felix continued to stare her down from beside her barstool. 

“Okay,” said Annette, laughing a little as she threw her arms around his waist. “Okay.”

Felix was still startled, but he caught on quicker these days. He tightened his arms against her back, and for a moment, all the was right with the world.

“Besides,” he mumbled, into her hair, “I’m not dying. Fhirdiad is only an hour away.” He let go and returned to his seat, adding, “And only half an hour, on the days you student teach.”

Annette smiled—“That’s true.”—but then it immediately faltered. “Oh, but it would be an hour drive back afterwards.”

“You could just crash at my place,” Felix said, ignoring the blush rising to his face. “It’s got plenty of rooms.”

Annette also blushed, and was resolutely ignoring it. “I mean, then you’d just have to drive me back in the morning. And Ingrid would have to drop me off, or you’d have to come and get me from student teaching, both of which are a pain.”

“Oh right,” Felix said. “Ingrid is your ride.”

Annette made a face. “I _knew _not having a car would be inconvenient for my masters, but y’know how money goes.”

“Yeah,” said Felix, an idea blossoming in the back of his mind. “I do.”

-)

He dropped Annette back off at Garreg Mach after lunch, and aimlessly drove around for a while. He passed the academic buildings he used to take classes in, the library he’d practically lived in senior year, the remains of his freshman dorm and the construction site for the new one they were building.

He was stalling, he knew, but he didn’t know what for. He still had two weeks before life as Aegis knew it was all over, but they might as well have been an afternoon, for how long it felt. Stalling wasn’t going to make them last any longer, or make any of this suck any less.

He tried to put it all out of his mind as he told Siri to call his uncle.

Piers picked up on the third ring. “Felix! How are you?”

“I’m fine,” Felix said. “Hey, I had a question—did you have a plan for my dad’s car?”

Piers sighed. He and Felix had been steadily working through Rodrigue’s belongings and affairs over the past week, but it was so painful, and there was just so much to consider. “Not yet, I’ve been sorting through the utilities and Sinclair’s employment first. The house and car were paid off, thank God. Why do you ask?”

“My girlfriend is student teaching this semester and could use a car.” Felix cursed as he had to swerve to avoid a few idiots jaywalking towards the academic quad, and his uncle laughed. “I was thinking she could borrow mine if I could drive my dad’s.”

“Oh.” Piers paused. “I don’t have a problem with that. It isn’t like we need an extra car over here.”

“Cool.” It was Felix who paused this time. “So what _are_ we doing about Sinclair?”

“I don’t know yet,” Piers said. “Honestly, I refuse to fire him—he’s worked for our family for a million years—but if no one is really going to be in the house except you sometimes during the week, I’m not sure what it needs a butler for.”

“I mean, do you and Aunt Amy need help around the house? A babysitter or something?”

“That’s a good thought,” Piers said. “I’ll speak to him and Amy about it.”

“Okay, good.” Sinclair had been almost as much a constant as his own dad, growing up. Felix wasn’t about to let anything awful happen to him over this. “Wait, couldn’t you guys move into the place?”

“I suppose we could,” Piers admitted. “But it’s on the wrong end of Fhirdiad for where Amy and I work, and the kids go to school.”

“You mean you don’t want to live in the giant fuckin’ house you grew up in?” Felix asked, only half-jokingly.

“Not overly,” Piers admitted. “It always seemed like too much space for one family.” 

A short silence fell across uncle and nephew.

“You know, Felix, I really did mean it when I said you’re welcome to stay with us while you’re here,” Piers said, “or that we don’t mind if you use some of the family money to help rent yourself a place in Fhirdiad. You don’t _have _to stay in that house alone.”

“It’s fine,” Felix said. “It seems really dumb to rent two places and own a house that no one lives in.”

Piers sighed. “Oh, why are you so _practical?”_

Felix laughed, despite himself. “Dad said it was a Fraldarius family trait.”

“Must’ve skipped me. Shame, Amy would appreciate it.” Piers sighed again. “Well, don’t be a stranger, kiddo.”

“Pfft,” said Felix, and he hung up.

-)

“What are you doing home?” Sylvain asked the instant Felix strode into their house. “I thought you had work today?”

“So did I,” Felix muttered, thumping his keys on the kitchen counter and rummaging around their fridge for a cold drink. 

Sylvain was immediately on the defensive and ready to bust heads. “Did they fucking fire you over your dad?”

“No.” Felix cracked the tab on a green tea and came around into the family room. Sylvain had his laptop on the table and an energy drink beside it, and the man himself was bolt upright on the couch. “I gave my boss my two weeks, and she told me to take the week off.”

“Oh.” Sylvain’s posture softened. “That’s... kinda nice of her.”

“It’s annoying,” Felix said. “If I needed more bereavement leave, I’d’ve taken it.”

“Well, sure, but,” Sylvain began, but Felix wasn’t finished:

“Can’t _something_ just go back to fucking normal?”

He looked so small and lost, his best friend of most of their lives, and Sylvain couldn’t stand it. He was a hugger by nature, and so, before he could even pause to consider the idea, he snapped to his feet and enveloped Felix, green tea and all, into a massive bear hug,

“Get off me!” Felix snapped at once.

“You always snarl like an angry cat,” Sylvain said, but he was laughing (and not letting go).

Felix tried very hard not to scratch at Sylvain’s arm or kick him in the shin, because the only thing worse than being hugged by Sylvain was proving him right. “I don’t like hugs!” 

Sylvain pouted. “You don’t mind _Annette’s _hugs.”

“Well, yeah,” Felix said. “_She’s_ special. _You’re _annoying.”

“Aww, Fe!” Sylvain let go, putting his hand to his heart. “You're in love.”

“I’m in wrath, right now,” Felix warned.

Sylvain threw his head back and laughed, startling Crusher, who had been snoozing in his dog bed beside the TV.

“But seriously,” Sylvain said, “put a ring on it, already. I see how you look at her.”

Felix flushed an unholy shade of scarlet. “We have been dating _three months!”_

“So?” said Sylvain. “Wanna see the one I picked out for Ingrid?”

“_You _have been dating three months!”

“I haven’t _bought_ it yet,” Sylvain argued. “But don’t you ever like, look around and see what jewelers have?”

“No!”

Sylvain made an annoyed noise. “I forgot, your internet history is made up of like, reddit, guitar tabs, and occasionally porn.”

“_Why are you looking at my internet history?”_

Sylvain laughed again. “I had to borrow your laptop when mine broke, remember? Besides, I could have guessed that even without seeing it in person.”

Felix huffed—“I hate you, y’know.”—and took a huge slug of tea.

“I know,” Sylvain said brightly. “Anyway, so if your boss gave you the week off, where have you been all morning?”

“I killed some time at a coffee shop, and then Annette and I got lunch.”

“Ah, an excellent use of time.” Sylvain gave him an over exaggerated wink, and Felix rolled his eyes. “Gotta soak that up while you can.”

“For the last time, I’m not dying,” Felix barked. “I’m just moving during the week, kinda.”

Sylvain folded himself back into a pretzel on the couch. “It’s gonna be different, either way.”

“You don’t need to remind me, thanks.”

‘If I tell you I’ll miss you, will you feel less bad about leaving?”

“Maybe.”

“Then I’m gonna miss you so much, man.” Sylvain mimicked the way his words ran together when he got drunk. “We’ve been friends for_ev_er.”

“_God_, you’re annoying.” Felix felt the sudden, overwhelming urge to sit down.

Silence enveloped them for a long, heavy moment.

“So now what are you gonna do?” Sylvain asked over the lip of his energy drink.

“I don’t know,” Felix admitted. “I don’t really wanna pack and all my songs are being shits right now.”

Sylvain studied him for a moment, and then stood up so abruptly, Felix took a few steps back. “I know what you need to do.”

“Um?” said Felix.

But Sylvain had already slung an arm around his shoulders and was dragging him towards the garage.

“You need to fence.”


	33. The One Where Odin Loses His Eye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> quick! lunch break fic post!
> 
> Today's chapter is brought to you by "Welcome to the Breakdown" by Rise Against

“This is stupid,” Felix huffed.

“No it’s not!” Sylvain called back. “Now put on your damn mask and fight me!”

They had both changed clothes and pulled out their old fencing gear (Felix under duress), and were now six feet apart in the makeshift practice ring they’d made in the backyard all those years ago. The sand desperately needed replacing, and it crunched uncomfortably under Felix’s boots.

“I told you, I don’t want to fence,” Felix snapped.

“Humor me!”

Felix had been doing that his whole life and was in no mood to do so now. He folded his arms across his chest, his fencing foil dripping from his fingertips. 

Sylvain let off a frustrated noise. “Fine, you bastard, if you won’t do it for you, do it for me. _I _want to fence today, and Ingrid doesn’t get home until six.”

Felix remained unmoved. “Then call Petra.”

“I don’t have her number!”

“Bullshi--_hey!”_

Sylvain had finally pounced, and Felix was forced to parry or be struck in the head with Sylvain’s foil.

“En garde, you little shit!” Sylvain said.

“You fuckin’ cheat,” Felix snarled, jamming his helmet onto his head. “Get wrecked!”

They clashed in the backyard battlefield, these two out of shape former athletes. It took a moment to get back into the rhythm of sparring—the cuts and parries and footwork—and it came back to Felix in shuddering fits and starts of _oh yeah, this foot goes here, _and _oh yeah, that’s how you overhand something_.

Sylvain had always been talented, but Felix had always been dedicated, and so matches between them usually came down to a point or two. They were like clumsy parodies of what they had been, swings going too wide, thrusts going too far, tripping over footwork that had once been route.

But damn Sylvain, he was right.

The more Felix fell into the rhythm of the match, the more his shoulders relaxed and his jaw unclenched. The more he landed hits on Sylvain’s arms, shoulders, chest, and the more he took himself, the more he forgot about moving to Fhirdiad, forgot about his soon-to-be-former boss, forgot about leaving behind everyone he knew and loved for a job he’d never wanted in the first place.

The more he fought, the more he felt like himself.

-)

Hubert had never arrived at Dimitri’s apartment without express invitation before, but he supposed desperate times called for desperate measures (and also, he didn’t have Dedue’s number, and was rapidly learning to lament that fact).

Hubert pounded on the door, shouting, “_Dimitri! Dedue!”_

Silence greeted him, long and drawn out.

He tried the door handle next, only to find it predictably locked. He knocked again to more silence. 

“This is going nowhere,” Hubert muttered to himself. It was time for plan B.

He set down the takeout he’d brought with him, and then retrieved a swiss army knife-style lockpick from his coat. He glanced first over one shoulder, then the other, and then fiddled with Dimitri’s front door lock.

It clicked open and the door fell ajar a few moments later, and Hubert was struck with a musty, unwashed scent as he set his lockpick back in his pocket. He made a face, grabbed their dinners from off the floor, and then eased open the door, shouting, “Hello?”

The silence was thicker in the dark apartment, as was the smell. It wasn’t necessarily unpleasant, but more so stale and unfamiliar. Dedue typically kept their place meticulously clean, and although Dimitri’s room was a mess, it was usually contained to just that. But now it had spread to their common room, their kitchen. Sweatshirts and socks had been thrown this way and that, and pots lay “soaking” in the sink that, judging from the water level, had been there for days.

Hubert set the takeout bag on the cluttered kitchen table, his danger sense singing in his skull. Something was very wrong, here. Where was Dedue? How had his screaming practicality let this happen?

PlayStation controllers littered the couch, one of them broken where one’s hands would hold it, and empty cans of energy drinks and soda littered the coffee table. _Strange, _Hubert thought,_ doesn’t Dimitri normally have his PS4 in his room?_

The unwashed, musty scent grew stronger as Hubert padded down the hall, away from the common area. Bracing himself, Hubert rapped hard on Dimitri’s door. “Dimitri? It’s Hubert.”

Silence.

Dimitri’s bedroom wasn’t locked, and so when Hubert tested the doorknob, it swung open easily, revealing Atrocity’s frontman sprawled across his bed. He was dressed in sweatpants and a ratty old t shirt, his hair unkempt and wild, and at the sound of his door, his good eye opened, pinning Hubert in place.

His ruined eye looked as though its wound had been reopened.

“Piss off,” Dimitri growled. His voice sounded hoarse, like he hadn’t been using it.

Hubert blinked at him a few times, uncomprehending. “Have you _showered _recently?” 

“It doesn’t matter,” Dimitri said. “Piss. _off.”_

“I will not,” Hubert said, a touch indignantly. “Your stepsister has been worried sick about you and asked me to come by. Where is your phone?”

Dimitri’s stare was unnerving, and Hubert wasn’t sure if it was because of the good eye, or the ruined one. “Dead, I think.”

“And where is Dedue?”

“Work.”

“How could you--”

Hubert couldn’t even get the sentence out, because suddenly Dimitri was before him, looming, radiating more menace than Hubert could ever hope to produce.

“I’m not asking,” Dimitri growled, “I’m telling. _Piss off.”_

Hubert was very much aware that, in a physical fight with Dimitri, he would lose spectacularly. Although they were of similar height, Dimitri was easily a hundred pounds heavier, most of it composed of muscle, and Hubert had never been a collegiate athlete. Also, at this exact moment, something about Dimitri was very wrong, like something in him had snapped.

“I will not,” Hubert said again, and he slammed Dimitri’s door back shut and pressed his back to it.

The thud that rocked the frame a moment later told him he’d made the right decision.

Options rapidly whirled in Hubert’s mind. Ordinarily when he needed muscle to deal with something, he’d call Caspar. But also, ordinarily, it was drunks in a bar or annoying fans they needed muscle for. Not mad friends, nothing like this. If he called Caspar, there would be questions, and they would do Dimitri no good.

After a few minutes of fruitless googling (and several more thuds), Hubert resigned himself to Dedue’s cell phone number remaining a mystery. _Think, Hubert, think! _He needed cavalry, and he needed it fast.

Another thud rocked the door and jarred Hubert against it, and he mused, _I weep for his roommates._

Wait, his _roommates!_

Googling Felix Fraldarius brought up his professional contact information in some graphic design company, as well as a lot of articles about the last week, but googling Sylvain Gautier brought up the website he maintained for his freelance work.

Hubert was not a religious man, but he found himself praying this would work as he dialed the number listed.

A miracle answered, breathless, on one of the later rings. “Hello, Sylvain Gautier speaking.”

“Sylvain!” Hubert was so relieved, he nearly missed the next heavy thud from behind him. “It is Hubert.”

“Hubert?” Surprise was heavy in his voice. “Do you need PR for something?”

“Not exactly. Are you busy at the moment?”

“I mean, I’m fencing with Felix right now. What’s up?”

Perfect, he had both of them. Hubert wasn’t usually one to reveal so many secrets in one go, but this situation sort of demanded it: “Listen, I’m with Dimitri right now and he’s losing his shit and there isn’t enough of me to stop him.”

“Oh, _shit.” _Any brightness in Sylvain’s voice immediately dropped. “Is he in one of those depression funks where he breaks shit and snarls at everything that moves?”

“Seems like it.” The sentence was punctuated by the loudest thud yet.

“Fucking hell,” Sylvain said, “I _heard _that one. Where are you?”

“His apartment.”

“Me and Fe will be there as soon as we can.” Sylvain paused. “Wait, where’s he living now?”

“Is this your cell phone?” Hubert asked, as he heard Felix shout “WHAT ARE YOU GETTING ME INTO?” in the background.

“Yeah, it is.”

“Perfect, I’ll text it to you.”

“Great.” Sylvain’s voice had taken on a hard edge. “Man the fort; we’ll be there soon as we can.”

_“SYLVAIN GAUTIER, WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU—” _Hubert didn’t hear the rest of Felix’s rage, because Sylvain chose that moment to hang up.

Hubert’s relief lasted until the door behind him finally splintered open.

-)

Felix and Sylvain didn’t bother to announce themselves, just strode right into Dimitri’s apartment.

“God,” Felix swore, lowly, “it smells like something died in here.”

“You’ve always had a way with words, Fe,” Sylvain said, and Felix’s indignant retort was cut off by a crash from somewhere down the hall.

They shared a glance and then took off towards it, Sylvain and his bulk in front.

They rounded the corner to find Hubert in a headlock, blood from his broken nose dripping onto Dimitri’s forearm. Hubert was slamming his bony elbow into any part of Dimitri’s torso he could reach, and although it was an admirable effort, Felix knew from experience Dimitri “brick shithouse” Blaiddyd wouldn't feel a damn thing.

“Dimitri, what the fuck!” Felix shouted.

“Put him down!” Sylvain ordered.

Dmitri’s good eye fixed on them both, and Felix and Sylvain were both visibly taken aback by his ruined one.

“Did you bring ghosts to haunt me?” Dimitri hissed at Hubert.

“No, we’re real,” Sylvain said, horror still written across his face. 

“Put him the fuck down!” Felix barked.

Somehow, unthinkably, Dimitri did, releasing Hubert to the floor. Aymr’s keyboardist immediately drew in gulping breaths, and ran the heel of his hand beneath his nose as if it would stop the bleeding.

“That’s Hubert,” Sylvain tried, more gently. “He’s your friend.”

“I know who it is,” Dimitri said.

Sylvain and Felix exchanged another glance, Sylvain’s eyebrows in his hairline and Felix’s drawn low over the bridge of his nose.

Dimitri snarled and launched himself at Felix, only to be intercepted by Sylvain’s form-perfect tackle. They slammed into the wall with a heavy thud, and photographs that had been hung a few feet away were jostled to the floor. Their frames shattered on impact, broken glass now littering the hallway.

“Bathroom back there?” Felix asked Hubert, jerking his head to his right.

Hubert nodded, blood still streaming down his face.

“Drag him, Sylvain,” Felix ordered, already on the move to open the door.

Sylvain had wrestled Dimitri plenty of times—as a kid roughhousing in the Blaiddyds’ basement, as drunk teenagers in the Fraldarius’ basement, and as adults when Dimitri flew into one of these depression-rages—but he was woefully out of practice. He caught far too many elbows to the ribs and face. Dimitri split open his forehead at one point, and blood began stinging his eyes.

Felix helped him wrestle Dimitri’s unwilling bulk into the bathtub, clothes and all, and then Felix turned the water on as cold as it would go.

Dimitri hissed when the spray first hit him, but Felix was halfway in the tub himself, holding him down.

“You. Are. Not. Your. Self,” Felix hissed, punctuating each word with a slap to the face.

Dimitri glared up at him, his good eye wild and unfocused, his ruined one bleeding onto an old Black Iron Spurs shirt, and for the first time in a long time, the first thing that sparked in Felix’s mind wasn’t raw, unending fury.

It was deep, ceaseless sorrow.

“How do you know what I am?” Dimitri growled between his teeth.

“How long have you known me, exactly?”

Even in this maddened state, Dimitri didn’t hesitate: “My whole life.”

“Then don’t you think I have a pretty good fucking handle on it?”

Dimitri was just staring at him, unblinking. “You hate me,” he finally said, no longer growling, no longer gritting his teeth so hard the tendons in his neck stood out.

“No, I don’t,” said Felix, and he was surprised to find it was true. “I hate your bullshit.”

That set Dimitri back so far, the rest of his rage evaporated. Icy water streamed into his face, soaking him through to the bone, and he seemed not to notice.

“But I lost all of you,” Dimitri said, a plaintive, childlike note in his voice. “And now Rodrigue, too.”

“You didn’t lose us, bro,” Sylvain said from somewhere over Felix’s shoulder. “You left.”

Dimitri shut his good eye. The ruined one remained open, unblinking, unseeing. “You were afraid of me.”

“You lost your shit.” Felix had rocked back out of the water, now, and Sylvain threw a towel at him. “You weren’t you.”

“You _still_ aren’t you,” Sylvain added.

“What if I am, though?” Dimitri asked. “What if this horrible creature is me?”

“Then learn to live with it,” Felix snapped, “before it crushes you.”

Out in the hall, Hubert felt like he was intruding on something very private. His head hurt like a bitch, and his shirt and nose were probably ruined at this point, so the only logical thing to do was remove himself from the situation. He got to his feet shakily, and an errant thought reminded him that it had been a long time since something had gone so sideways _he _had gotten into a fight.

And yet the Faerghus boys behaved like it was nothing—or, no. They behaved like it was _expected. _Like it was perfectly normal to yank your fighting friends off of one another.

“Hey, Hubert.” Sylvain was suddenly out in the hall. “Let’s take a look at your nose.”

“Are you sure it’s wise to leave Felix with him?” Hubert asked, though he still dutifully followed Sylvain into the kitchen. 

“Oh, yeah, they’ll be fine,” Sylvain said. “You know Fe, he’s got _such _a way with words.”

Hubert tried to snort, and succeeded only in blasting blood down his face.

“Yeeesh!” Sylvain made a face as he wet a paper towel in the sink. “Do you think it’s broken?”

“Yeah.” Hubert accepted the wet wad of paper and began delicately cleaning around his nose. “I heard the crunch.”

Sylvain folded his arms across his broad chest as he watched Hubert work. The bleeding cut on his forehead had slowed to an ooze. “Do you want me to drive you to urgent care?

Hubert was so surprised, it took him a moment for him to find his voice. “I’m really not certain we should leave Dimitri alone with just Felix.” Part of the reason Hubert hadn’t been able to handle this himself was due to the size difference, after all, and Felix was even smaller than he was.

“I told you, Fe’s fine.” A small smile tugged at Sylvain’s lips. “If Dimitri _actually_ hurts him, that’s when we’ll put him in a psych ward.”

Hubert cocked his head, as if to study something closer. “Are they that close?”

Sylvain shrugged. “Maybe at one time, but no. It’s that he looks that much like Glenn.”

The name struck sour notes in the back of Hubert’s mind. “That’s… Felix’s brother, right? From Black Iron Spurs?”

Sylvain nodded. “He and Dima were good friends, back in the day.” He paused, a thought occurring to him. “By the way, how'd you get my number?”

“Your freelance site,” Hubert said. “I don't have Dedue’s number so my next thought on who would have any idea on what to do was you and Felix.”

“Good thought.” Sylvain nodded his approval. “Feel free to save it and call me if something like this happens again.” He paused to make sure he had Hubert’s full attention. “Seriously, call. Even if it’s three in the morning; it’ll wake me up eventually.”

Hubert expertly dodged the concern. “I don’t foresee this happening again.”

Something dark flashed across Sylvain’s normally cheery face. “Don’t bet on that.”

It was at that moment that Felix marched Dimitri back out into the common area, towels wrapped around both of their shoulders. 

“Apparently,” Felix announced, “he hasn’t eaten in like four days.” He shoved Dimitri onto his couch, barking, “_Sit.”_

And Dimitri, unthinkably, _did. _He perched on the edge of his and Dedue’s couch, toweling off his hair.

“I brought food,” Hubert remembered, gesturing to the plastic bag on the kitchen table.

“Cool.” Felix immediately started rummaging through its contents. “Does it matter which I give him?”

Hubert shook his head and immediately regretted it. “They’re both just cheeseburgers.”

“Cool,” Felix said again, grabbing one of the Styrofoam containers and then heading back over to the couch. “And _you. _Eat.” 

Dimitri meekly accepted the takeout box shoved at him, and again, unthinkably, _did._

“Holy shit,” said Hubert softly, and Sylvain, again, tried to smile.

“See?” he said. “I told you. Now, seriously, let’s get you to urgent care for that nose.”

It was a testament to the seriousness of the moment that Felix only asked, “Is it broken?”

“He thinks so,” Sylvain told him.

“Yeesh,” said Felix, echoing Sylvain from a few minutes prior.

A rumble arose from the couch: “‘M sorry.”

“If you were sorry, you wouldn’t do this shit,” Felix snapped.

“That’s not quite how mental illness works,” Sylvain reminded him.

“Don’t defend me,” Dimitri said, quietly. “He’s right, as always.”

Silence fell across the musty apartment, and Sylvain seemed to realize they were all standing in the dark. He strode over to the window and yanked the blinds open without ceremony. Sunlight streamed into the apartment, and Dimitri visibly winced.

“We should call Dedue, before we go,” Hubert said.

“Already texted him,” Felix said. “He said he’d talk to Mercie about letting him off early for a family emergency, like she’d tell him anything other than ‘go.’”

“His girlfriend’s his boss?” Sylvain said. “That’s uncomfortable.”

“According to Annette,” Felix said, “she was his boss before she was his girlfriend.”

“That seems like a power differential,” Hubert pointed out.

“I think it’s more like ‘mom and dad run a bakery together,’ at this point,” Felix said.

Sylvain laughed. “Are you gonna end up being a date to a wedding you don’t really wanna be at, like next year?”

Felix shot him a look. “I mean, I like Mercedes.”

A series of hacking noises came from the couch, and Hubert, Felix, and Sylvain all glanced over to find Dimitri coughing up half-chewed cheeseburger.

“Jesus Christ,” Felix said, already heading over to the couch, “he’s like the world’s worst dog.”

Hubert, despite himself, laughed. His curse a moment later made Sylvain crack up in huge, snorting guffaws that made Felix throw his towel at him and Dimitri stop retching.

They stayed until Dedue arrived, deeply concerned and still smelling of pastries, and it was only once he began laying into Dimitri for his unhealthy habits that the fist of worry in Hubert’s stomach began to properly unclench.


	34. The One Where Felix Becomes the Shield

Fhirdiad was bitterly cold. 

Felix had known that, of course. He’d grown up in her winters, had his nose and toes frostbitten on more than one occasion. And yet the first morning he awoke in Fraldarius manor alone, all he could think on his way to the shower was how_ cold _he was. 

The chill had followed him out of the shower and into the kitchen and then his car, all the way to his new office at Seiros Security. He wondered if he were coming down with something, or if Garreg Mach was just that much warmer. 

“Good morning!” chirped the receptionist when he strode through the main doors. “Welcome to Seiros Security. How may I direct you?”

Felix was taken aback, squinting at the diminutive form seated behind the front desk. “Ashe Ubert?”

“Felix! Hello! I heard you’d be starting today.”

Felix continued blinking at the grey-haired boy who was typically slinging pancakes at Ubert’s and tried to mentally connect the dots that would have led him here. “Did anyone tell you where I’m supposed to go?”

Ashe beamed. “The conference room. Byleth offered to take you to it; let me just call her.”

Felix stood awkwardly in the foyer, uncomfortable in the first day outfit Sylvain had helped him decide on via video call and sipping coffee from his beat-up traveler mug. He supposed he should probably get a new one, but it had been one of the last birthday presents Glenn had ever given him, and he couldn’t bear to get rid of it.

_Is today over yet?_

Byleth appeared through one of the doors a few minutes later, although Felix almost didn’t recognize her in a sedate black dress and ankle boots. “Good morning, Felix,” she said, unblinking as ever. “Follow me.”

He fell into step behind her as she began winding back through the office with a practiced ease. Before long, she began a running commentary: “This is where our detectives sit… back there is where my brother and I have our desks. The gym is down that hall. Cafeteria’s off that way, next to the bathrooms. That will be your office, unless you want to switch with Alois or Shamir because… well, you know.” Felix took the pause to mean it had been his father’s until three weeks ago.

“And this is the conference corridor.” She pulled up short in front of one of the conference rooms, marked with some stupid combination of letters and numbers. “The meeting isn’t supposed to start until nine-thirty, but Beresu and I thought you might want to get your bearings.”

Felix released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. “Thanks.”

Byleth didn’t really smile, exactly, but the face she made at him was something close. “Alois basically just wanted to introduce you to everyone and have you say a few words. How you handle the rest is up to you.”

“Good to know, thanks.”

Byleth nodded, and then paused on her way to go. “Oh, and Felix? Feel free to ask my brother or me anything. We know it’s hard being the new kid, and we’re pretty good with the ins and outs of this place.”

“Uh, thanks.” Something twisted unexpectedly in his chest. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

-)

“Thank you all for being here this morning,” Alois, one of the lieutenants, announced at nine-thirty sharp. “I know there have been some changes recently and we wanted to make sure you were all aware.”

Felix half paid attention to Alois’ maudlin rendition of Rodrigue’s loss, and instead tried to focus on the sea of faces. He counted around thirty, in all, and Felix knew there were also part time folk who were called in on assignment.

He was not qualified for this.

“...which brings us to today,” Alois continued. “I would like to introduce our new Captain, Felix Fraldarius.”

He was greeted with a smattering of polite applause and sharp gazes.

“Good morning,” Felix said. “I look forward to getting to know you all.”

Sylvain had helped coach him through what to say for this kind of professional bullshit. Smooth-talking came so easily to his drummer.

“Would you care to say a few words, Captain Fraldarius?” Alois said, retaking his seat.

“Sure.” Felix got to his feet, and drew in a deep breath. He tried to remember what he and Annette had been furiously texting just ten minutes prior.

“First of all,” he said, “call me Felix.”

A rumble went through his captive audience, but a few of the older detectives looked like they appreciated dropping the pretense.

“Second of all, I know this is the epitome of unexpected. But I want to make a few things abundantly clear: I am not my father, and I have no intention of becoming him.”

Another rumble, but this one, Felix couldn’t read.

“I’m sure I’m not what a lot of you wanted,” Felix continued. “I’m young; I’m inexperienced; I got brought in from outside to run the company. I hope you’ll all give me a shot, anyway.”

Felix drew in another breath, and willed his hands not to shake.

“I plan to institute an open-door policy, starting today. If you have any issues, questions, or concerns, I want you feel comfortable coming to me. And if I don’t know the answer, I’ll find someone who does.” A couple of nods came from around the room. “I genuinely do look forward to getting to know each and every one of you, and it’s my intention to continue our reputation of excellence. Meeting adjourned.”

Alois looked a tad put out that his meeting had been cut short, but everyone else was already up and moving and trying to hide their relief.

-)

Felix spent most of the rest of the day familiarizing himself with his (he tried very hard not to think _his father’s) _office and getting his various accounts set up. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that he finally sat down to check his new (admittedly, sparse) work email.

There were a few security reports that he would soon learn comprised most of his workload, a ‘welcome aboard!’ eCard from Ashe, and a couple of memes from Ingrid. How she’d found his email already, he had no idea, but he was too grateful for the dumb Skyrim jokes to dwell on it. The reports were going to take some getting used to.

A knock sounded at his door.

“It’s open,” Felix called, hastily exiting out of reddit.

And it was a very wary Gilbert Pronislav who walked into his office that day. 

“I apologize for missing this morning’s meeting,” he said stiffly. “I was out on assignment from last week.”

“No worries,” Felix said carefully. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m handing in my resignation,” he said, offering up a typed sheet of paper. “I think it best for the company if I remove myself at this time.”

Felix stared at him for a long, wordless moment. And then:

“No.”

“I _beg _your pardon?”

“No,” Felix said again, this time louder. “Resignation not accepted. Regardless of how you feel about me—or how I feel about _you, _for that matter—you’ve been with Seiros Security since forever. I’m sure you know everything there is to know around here, yeah?”

Hesitantly, as though he didn’t want to admit it, Gilbert nodded.

“Walking away now is absolutely not better for the company. Don’t hide behind that bullshit. You’re _running_.”

It was Gilbert’s turn to stare at Felix for a long, uncomfortable moment. 

“Talk to me again about this in a few months if you’re still thinking about it,” Felix added. “But do us all a favor and stick around a bit longer.”

Gilbert looked caught between two oncoming cars. For the longest moment, he said nothing, and Felix turned back to his email in a show of productivity. 

“And if you won’t do it for me,” Felix mumbled, “do it for my Dad.”

His keyboard clacked heavily in the silence.

“Very well,” Gilbert finally said. “Three months. That should give you plenty of time to get up to speed.”

“Thank you,” Felix said. 

“I… suppose I’ll head back to my desk.” Bewildered, Gilbert turned to go. 

“Hold on, Gilbert,” Felix said, and the man flinched at the sound of his name. “I have some questions about these reports you turned in.”

With a long-suffering sigh, Gilbert lowered himself into one of the chairs opposite his boss of less than six hours. “What do you wish to know?”

Felix pulled up the one that had originally made his blood sing in fury. “Start with everything you know about the Fhirdiad mob.”

-)

Although Felix had long since grown used to silent drives home, he was also used to an immediate sonic assault as soon as he stepped in the front door. Their rental house was a riot of sound and color, and always had been. Fraldarius manor was just too quiet by comparison. His footsteps echoed against the wood paneling and tiled floors, his dinnerware clattered too loudly against his plate. 

He supposed it was karma, for how often he told his friends to leave him alone.

As he tried to wrangle spaghetti onto his fork, he recalled the last few days with unprecedented melancholy:

_Saturday night, they’d all gone out to Tokyo Inn to celebrate getting into Ailell. They’d gorged themselves on sake and fresh sushi, and even Sylvain’s incessant flirting with Ingrid wasn’t so bad when Annette was beside him, asking distracting questions about the menu and playfully poking at him with her chopsticks. Her face had been flushed from the sake, her smile blinding, her shirt gaping at the collar when she’d leaned over to talk to him._

_It had taken so_, _so much effort to keep from staring. _

_He’d told her on the drive home about his plan for his dad’s car. And she had, predictably, splutteringly told him she couldn’t possibly accept it. The plane tickets had been expensive enough, for God’s sake, how could she possibly accept a _car?

_He’d worn her down with sheer practicality, citing her student teaching and the fact that getting up to Fhirdiad would be next to impossible without one. Plus, what else was it going to do besides gather dust? She could consider it a loan if that made her feel more comfortable. _

_She’d softened at that, and after another moment’s debate, pressed the biggest, sloppiest kiss to his cheek at the next light. _

_Felix had still been thinking about that kiss and the gap in her shirt collar all through the next day and into The Golden Deer, where the bands gathered for the first official Ailell practice. Thyrsus lamented their fates in not getting into the fest—Lorenz most of all—but the Watchers, Aymr, and Atrocity had all been accepted. Hilda poured everyone a free shot of celebratory fireball and then the bands got to work._

_He still had his and Ferdinand’s cover of “Grunthilda’s Lair” stuck in his head on the long drive up to Fhirdiad, several hours later. He hadn’t exactly meant to cover it, but had discovered the riff while dicking around on his fretboard, waiting for the rest of his band to get set up. And then Ferdinand had (somewhat drunkenly) declared his absolute love and adoration for Banjo and Kazooie, and then Sylvain had started tapping out the beat, and it had all been downhill from there. _

_It had been unexpectedly painful, saying goodbye to Ingrid and Sylvain at the bar, and then saying goodbye to Annette at her apartment without knowing when he would next see her in person._

_He had Glenn’s guitar, a duffel bag full of clothes, and a crushing silence awaiting him at Fraldarius Manor, and suddenly, Felix had never felt so alone._

It was fine.

This was fine.

After graduation Ingrid would probably end up with a job in Fhirdiad anyhow, and maybe Annette would, too. (Felix tried not to dwell on the possibility that she might want to return home.) Sylvain was still waffling about grad school, partially because now he could choose it for himself, having been cut off from the family funds shortly after Christmas. And Felix would… be here, he supposed. Running Seiros Security, if they didn’t run him out, first.

It was so hard to picture his future with everything so frustratingly in flux! Was anything sacred? Was anything stable, constant, _normal?_

_Ailell_, he supposed a moment later. _Sylvain’s idiocy. Ingrid’s appetite. Annette’s energy. The number of Zubats in a dark cave._

His appetite suddenly gone, Felix headed over to the trash to scrape the rest of his pasta into the bin, but paused midway through when his phone buzzed.

**Annette: **Hey! Can we video chat in a few? I wanna hear about how your first day went

His relief at her presence, even virtually, was eclipsed only by his anxiety as to what in the hell he was going to tell her.

**Felix: **sure

He debated what he was going to say all through doing his dishes and putting the leftovers away. He grasped at straws as he made himself comfortable in the basement and turned on Netflix, just to chase some of the quiet out of the room. He muted it a moment later when his phone lit up.

“Hi!” Annette’s bright, smiling face took up his entire phone screen, and Felix was hit in the chest with an unexpected wave of _something. _“How’d it go? I want to hear all about it!”

She was standing in her kitchen; he could just make out the ugly backsplash her landlord had installed somewhere behind her head. Stress baking, maybe? His stomach twisted at the thought.

“It was fine,” Felix said. “Byleth Eisner volunteered to show me around, and turns out Ashe Ubert is the receptionist.”

“That was nice of her,” Annette said. “And who is that, again?”

“His family runs that diner near my dad’s place.” Felix winced, and they both ignored his slip up. “Anyway, then they had a morning meeting that amounted to ‘here’s the new guy, don’t kill him,’ and then…” 

“And then?” Annette prompted. She was distracted by something offscreen.

Felix sighed. “And then your dad tried to resign, and I told him no, ‘cause he’s one of the most experienced people in the company and I have no idea what I’m doing.”

She froze, as Felix had expected. He held his breath, waiting for her reaction.

“That... makes sense,” Annette finally said, distantly. “Are you going to have to work with him a lot?”

“Hopefully not,” Felix said. “I get the sense he doesn't like me.”

The voicemail probably hadn’t helped, but there was no use dwelling on it.

“He’s like that with everyone,” Annette said, and then clapped a hand to her mouth.

Felix studied her face, and wished, not even for the first time this conversation, that they were physically together. “Is this going to bother you? That I work with your… with Gilbert?”

“I mean,” Annette said, taking her hand off her mouth, “yeah. But that doesn’t mean anything. You can’t really control who you have to talk to at your new job, or that he’s been there a long time and knows how to do it.”

“I can try to avoid him as much as possible?”

“I don’t want you to make your life difficult on my account,” Annette said. “Really, it’s okay.” She abruptly changed the subject: “Hey, do you wanna watch a movie like this? Mercedes suggested it earlier and I thought it sounded like fun.”

She was avoiding the question, and he knew it. But Felix suddenly found himself scared to death that she’d hang up and leave him in the carnivorous silence of Fraldarius Manor again if he pressed.

“Alright,” he said instead. “What do you want to watch?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oof, this chapter was a bitch and a half.
> 
> brought to you by ToxicxEternity's cover of Grunthilda's lair


	35. The One with the Rolling Thunder

“...Dimitri? Are you listening to me?”

Dimitri blinked a few times, and Edelgard’s apartment came sharply back into focus. He became aware again of the hard, wooden chair he was seated in, the hot coffee mug in his hand, the expectant stares of his stepsister and her best friend. 

“I apologize; I missed that. Could you say that again?”

Hubert clicked his tongue against his teeth. “Would it kill you to pay attention when your sister is speaking?”

“Hubert,” Edelgard said in the gentlest rebuke she possibly could. “He’s had a long day.”

“Don’t defend me,” Dimitri said, “Hubert is correct, as always.”

Edelgard gave a long-suffering sigh. “I was _saying, _thank you for taking care of the Gronder Field mission. Did you find anything?”

Dimitri nodded. “The sniper wasn’t nearly as good as she thought she was.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved a pair of disposable gloves, currently enclosed in a plastic Ziplock bag. He slapped it on the table with more force that was technically necessary.

“Great,” Edelgard said. “Hubert, can you do some research on…?”

“There’s no need,” Dimitri interrupted, and Hubert bristled on Edelgard’s behalf. “There’s only one place these are made.” He tapped the gloves again, this time at the logo embossed near the cuff. 

Edelgard recognized it instantly. _Von Arundel Industries._

Hubert set a hand to his chin as he considered the evidence. “The warehouse in Fhirdiad, do you think?”

“Seems most likely to me,” Dimitri agreed.

“These are absolutely manufactured in Adrestia,” Edelgard argued.

“They aren’t, actually,” Hubert said. “He is right about that one. Arundel has been pulling his most profitable enterprises out of Enbarr for years, now.”

Edelgard made a conciliatory gesture, although she was still visibly annoyed. “Then it could just be old.”

“I suppose,” Hubert said. “But it’s far more reasonable to assume it’s from their Fhirdiad plant, given the rest of what happened at that game.”

Edelgard sighed, and stirred more creamer into her coffee. “Shall we check it out, then?”

“I was planning to, next weekend,” Dimitri said. “I got invited to that ‘special meet and greet’ for Ailell on behalf of Atrocity, so I figured two birds, one stone.”

Edelgard’s brow furrowed. “What meet and greet?”

“The one I told you about,” Hubert said. “Petra was invited for Aymr, but she won’t be able to go since she’ll be back home next week for spring break.”

Edelgard made a face. “I don’t like the sound of this.”

“I think it’s just PR stuff,” Dimitri said. “They said something about a presentation in the email. I’ll admit I skimmed it.”

“Hmm.” Edelgard took deliberately a long sip of coffee, her brow furrowed low over violet eyes. “Then shouldn’t someone else go from Aymr, if Petra can’t?”

“I offered,” Hubert said. “They haven’t emailed Petra or I back.”

“Let me know when they do,” Edelgard said. “I want to read the email and see what this is about.”

Dimitri cocked an eyebrow at her. “Something wrong?”

Edelgard made a face again, more twisted than the last. “It just… doesn’t sit right with me, for some reason. There's no need to be so intentionally vague.”

“I’m sure they’re just being overdramatic,” Dimitri said. “All of Ailell is over the top, that way.”

“I suppose.” Edelgard’s tone announced the topic was closed. “Hubert, have you uncovered anything about the other things I asked about?”

“Some of it,” Hubert admitted. “I didn’t run into the most _forthcoming_ folk, but I know how to handle that.”

Both Dimitri and Edelgard suppressed a shudder.

“But I did eventually get out of them the mob’s favorite bar—the Miasma Delta.”

“Never heard of that one,” Dimitri said.

“Why would you?” Hubert asked. “It’s near the bay.”

Dimitri winced. The icy, industrial bay was easily the shadiest part of Fhirdiad, not for the faint of heart or body. 

“Lovely,” said Edelgard drily. “They have their waste disposal on site.”

“I would sincerely advise leaving this one to Dimitri and me,” Hubert said. “If something were to happen to you, I…”

“Bullshit,” Edelgard interrupted. “I’m not staying home this time.”

“Edelgard, please.” Hubert didn’t beg, but damn if he weren’t close. “You don’t even have a successor, right now.”

“It’s you, you idiot!”

Hubert was stunned into silence.

“Bring your axe, El,” Dimitri inputted, somewhat delicately. “I’ll have areadbhar.”

Edelgard nodded, but Hubert’s eyebrows rose. “Won’t that be _more _suspicious, not less?”

Dimitri shook his head. “Not in the Fhirdiad Bay area.”

“That’s right,” Hubert said after a moment, almost conversationally, “guns are illegal.”

“But defending yourself isn’t.” Dimitri’s face twisted into an odd sort of smile.

“Let’s do some reconnaissance before we just swing in,” Edelgard said. “Just… get a drink, or something.”

“We might not have that luxury,” Dimitri warned her.

“You think they’ll stab us on sight?”

“I think,” Dimitri said carefully, “I look a lot like my dad.”

Edelgard made a face like she’d forgotten that part, but Hubert was studying him appraisingly. “We’ll dye it,” he said after a moment. “Nothing to it.” At the face Dimitri made, Hubert added, “Oh, Manic Panic comes right out; don’t be difficult.”

“Is this where we learn your hair hasn’t always been that black?” Dimitri poked.

This time it was Hubert’s turn to make a face at him. “This is where you learn Caspar’s isn’t naturally _electric blue.”_

Edelgard gave a long-suffering sigh as their bickering unfurled, and wished, not for the first time, that she’d been granted a step_sister_ instead of yet another overprotective brother.

“_Enough_,” she interrupted. “When do we want to do this?”

Hubert racked his brains, and Edelgard and Dimitri could practically see the calculus symbols floating beside his head. “Two weeks? That should give me enough time to do some research.”

“Sounds good,” Edelgard said. “Meeting adjourned.”

-)

Aegis settled into the new living arrangements with about as much grace as a hippo getting into a bathtub. The first few weekends went more or less well, what with Felix coming back down to Garreg Mach Town for band practice, which they’d moved to Friday nights, general shenanigans, which had been moved to Saturdays, and Ailell practice, which had always been Sundays at the Golden Deer.

But by the fourth week, Felix was so exhausted from his new job, all the driving to Garreg Mach and back again, and the unending grief, that he couldn’t muster the energy for the drive home that weekend. His bandmates had been sad, but understanding, and it almost made Felix feel worse.

And so when he rolled up to the Ailell meet and greet on Aegis’ behalf that Thursday night, his mood was in his boots. It was not improved when he noted Dimitri’s car in the parking lot on his way in, and it took a concerning amount of effort not to key it.

Inside Saint Cihol Studios, the receptionist directed him to a conference room down the hall. He strode past gold and platinum records on the walls, signed photos with various celebrities, and someone’s leather jacket in a trophy case. The conference room doors were open, and so he thought nothing of walking right in.

Felix was overwhelmingly reminded of his father’s wake upon walking in and seeing various kind of chair set about in conversational nooks and people talking in hushed tones (although instead of a casket, there was a refreshments table, which was a definite improvement). The room itself was also about eight times more expensive looking than any conference room Felix had ever been in, what with its wall of windows overlooking the city and sleek, modern furniture. Not for the first time, Felix was reminded that his band was most definitely “Garage rock.”

“Felix! It’s good to see you.”

The hair on the back of his neck froze as Dimitri approached him. The bastard was even _smiling._

The reasons to leave just kept stacking up.

When Dimitri’s expectant stare became unbearable, Felix snapped, “What’s your problem?”

“I mean, I could ask you the same thing.”

Felix huffed, and wondered if he could get into a fistfight without getting kicked out of Ailell. _Probably not, _he determined, and so he went for the next best jugular: “Why’d they ask _you?”_

Dimitri shrugged. “It sounds like they asked specific members of our bands, and my guess is, I’m the most well-known.”

Felix’s brow furrowed, and he headed towards the refreshments table just to give himself something to do. He _had_ been the only person on the email, now that he thought about it, but Felix hadn’t given much thought to it. When Dimitri fell into step with him, Felix supposed the boar might as well make himself useful: “How do you figure they asked specific people?”

“Petra was asked for Aymr,” Dimitri said, “but she couldn’t go. So Hubert offered, and they turned him down.”

“That’s… bizarre,” Felix admitted.

“Right? If anything, they should have just emailed the bands and told them to designate someone.”

Although Felix hated to admit it, “That would make the most sense.”

“I’m glad you’re here, honestly. You’ll tell them to fuck right off, if there’s anything shady going on.” Dimitri chuckled. “Like you’re telling me, with that glare.”

If there was anything Felix hated more than Sylvain being right, it was _Dimitri _being right. “And you haven’t, because?”

“Frankly,” Dimitri said, “look around.”

They were on the earlier side, it seemed, as people were just now starting to file in. Constance from the Watchers appeared, and so had several executive types and a few more “I definitely play in a band” types whom Felix didn’t recognize. It didn’t take long to remember why Dimitri’s shy ass would stick by Felix, even through verbal abuse and irritation.

“Oh,” said Dimitri, “that’s Axe-head from Varley County. They’re huge in Enbarr.”

Felix tried to remember if he’d ever heard of them. A moment later, it hit him: “Don’t they suck?”

“Yeah,” Dimitri confirmed, a little too readily.

Felix couldn’t help but glance over to him. He _seemed _composed, but then, Dimitri usually did, when he wasn’t actively going barking mad. “Have you met?”

Dimitri nodded. “Had to pull him off Edelgard backstage at a show one time before she lost her shit.”

Felix tried to reconcile Aymr’s cool, collected frontwoman with the concept of ‘losing one’s shit’ as he grabbed himself a can of the least sweet soda he could find (ginger ale, as it happened). “Is that even possible?”

“Dunno,” said Dimitri truthfully, grabbing a Coke for himself. “Dunno if I want to find out, either.”

A sharp clap from the other side of the room turned all heads; it seemed Arundel had somehow appeared when no one was looking. He was dressed in a blindingly white suit, and his hair, as ever, was slicked back severely.

“Thank you very much for being here,” he said. “We will be discussing the public relations for Ailell this evening.”

A projector screen descended behind him, and Felix had to stifle a groan as a PowerPoint presentation flickered to life.

“I thought I _left _work,” Felix muttered, mostly out of habit since Sylvain was usually on hand.

“Right?” Dimitri hissed back. “We’ve been doing presentations on the Harlem Renaissance all week in my class. I think I might be faint.”

The PR moves they’d landed on for Ailell were decidedly brilliant. Individual and band interviews, shows in Fhirdiad, Deirdru, and Enbarr, a backstage web series—Felix had to hand it to Arundel; the man knew how to run a music fest. He and Dimitri lingered near the back, trading snark back and forth.

It was even more uncomfortably familiar than the wake-style setup.

The presentation ended after about an hour, and as everyone began filing out, Arundel added, “Oh, and would the representatives for The Watchers, Atrocity, Aymr, and Aegis please remain for just a bit longer?”

Felix and Dimitri both paused in their tracks, and sullenly slid back into the conference space.

“I _do _wonder what this is about,” Constance said. “It all seems very strange.”

“Yup,” said Felix.

“Agreed,” said Dimitri.

Arundel arrived in their little cabal a moment later. “Thank you all for remaining. We have a special promotion in mind for our local bands, but I think the woman herself should explain.”

That was the moment that Thunderstrike Cassandra entered the room.

She looked more like herself than she had at Rodrigue’s wake, Felix couldn’t help but think. Dressed in a jean jacket with the sleeves cut off, combat boots, and a Volbeat tank top, she could have hopped off the page of Thunderbrand’s _Rolling Stone _interview. What was her actual name, again? Shamir had said it, at the wake.

“Thanks, Volkhard,” she said. “And thank _you_, kids, for being here.”

Constance bristled at being called ‘kid,’ but said nothing.

“Volkhard has been talking to me about this fest for months now,” Catherine continued, “and I’ve always said we should support the local scene, y’know? I’m so glad you’re all here, especially since the Fhirdiad/Garreg Mach scene has taken a massive hit.”

All of Felix’s awe was sucked out of him immediately, and beside him, Dimitri visibly stiffened. He tried to catch Felix’s eye, but Aegis’ guitarist wasn’t looking at him, or Catherine, or anyone.

“It’s impossible to talk about local music here in Fhirdiad without the elephant in the room that is Black Iron Spurs,” Catherine continued. “So I had the thought of getting all the local bands to do a tribute at Ailell.”

She glanced over to Felix and Dimitri. “But it’s not something we could do in good conscience without Dimitri Blaiddyd onboard, first of all, or Felix Fraldarius, second of all. So how about it, boys?”

Felix felt like he was going to throw up.

“I…” Dimitri was nothing if not a politician at heart. “…tentatively like the idea?”

“It seemed the best way for a bunch of musicians to acknowledge that they’re gone, but not forgotten,” Catherine said, not unkindly.

Somewhere in the back of Felix’s mind, he remembered that Thunderbrand’s original drummer had died on the road, one summer tour, and that modern Thunderbrand had kept a candle burning for him every show, right up until their dissolution.

“So you want us to play together?” Constance asked, glancing to Dimitri and Felix.

“That was the hope,” Arundel said.

Catherine nodded. “That’s why we asked specific band members to be here, tonight.”

“Solves that mystery,” Dimitri muttered.

“I believe that a supergroup would really highlight the collaborative spirit we're hoping to foster for Ailell,” Arundel added. “Catherine has generously offered to coach you all through it, and practice could of course be here at Saint Cihol studios.”

Catherine had zeroed in on Felix, and he felt his face warm up at the scrutiny. “Felix? You haven’t said anything.”

It took a moment to find his voice. “Do what you want.” A cracking sound erupted from his hand, and he realized he was still holding his empty pop can. “I don’t care.”

He moved to go, but felt a heavy hand at his chest stop him.

“Felix,” Dimitri said. “Do you not want to play?”

“I. Don’t. Care.” Felix shoved Dimitri’s hand back at him. His anxiety was singing in the back of his mind, telling him to _disengage, disengage, DISENGAGE. _It didn’t matter that he’d have the chance to work with Thunderstrike Cassandra herself; he wasn’t going to be their cheap stand-in for his older brother. “I’m over this.”

He felt all eyes on him as he left the conference room, and had nearly made it to his car before he heard, from behind him:

“Oi! Fraldarius!”

He froze, keys in hand. At most, he had expected Dimitri to come out and wheedle at him, maybe bitch at him for being difficult. He had _not_ expected Catherine herself.

“Mind if we chat for a second?” she asked, her hands in her jacket pockets.

Felix could only stare at her, numbly, and she took it as her cue to go on.

“I’m sure you’re going through a lot, right now,” she said. “And I’m sorry if this came as kind of a shock. I know Volkhard likes his drama.” She rolled her eyes, and the motion was so much like Ingrid, Felix let out an unexpected laugh. “But I want you to know that I really do want this to happen in honor of your brother and his band, and for no other reason.”

Felix could only stare at her. She thought…he was upset because it was a cash grab? Of course it was; this was a music festival.

“I’m not really supposed to tell you this until NDAs have been signed,” Catherine continued at his silence, “but I think you deserve to know. I wanted you all to figure yourselves out for the tribute, maybe have all of you play a Spurs song in your sets or something, but Volkhard wants a supergroup, and he wants Blaiddyd on drums and you to front it.”

It felt ridiculous, standing in a dusty parking lot in his work clothes, talking to his childhood idol about his dead older brother’s band. The ginger ale from earlier threatened to come right back up, and Felix nearly laughed at the irony.

“I told him that isn’t fair to either of you,” Catherine added. “At least not without your consent. You’re trying to do your own thing with Aegis, y’know? And who knows what mental disorders Blaiddyd developed after being fuckin’ _shot at _and watching his bandmates die. I’m not sure I’d want to get back up there as that band, in any capacity.”

It was almost funny. For all the things she was telling him, all Felix could focus on was: “They want me to play with Dimitri?”

“And Constance, and Petra,” Catherine confirmed, expertly skirting the venom in his voice. Felix supposed she probably had a lot of practice, being married to Shamir. “But I’m not here to make you kids do anything you don’t want to, _especially _when it comes to grief. So think it over, and come talk to me later.” She paused. “Do you still have Shamir’s number?”

Dimly, Felix nodded.

“Text her, then,” Catherine said. “Volkhard’s yanked me out of retirement for this fest, so I’ll be around.”

Felix had no idea what to feel.

“That work?” A note of concern had entered her voice.

“’S fine,” Felix said, distantly.

Catherine studied him another moment, brows coming together over her strikingly blue eyes. For a horrible moment, it seemed like she was going to ask if he was okay.

“You eaten yet?” she asked instead. “Shamir was going to meet me down here for dinner after this thing; I’m sure she’d love to see you.”

Felix wasn’t sure if the last thing he wanted was to be scrutinized by his old fencing coach, or if it was to go back home to the emptiness of Fraldarius Manor.

“I don’t want to crash your date,” he said instead of an answer.

Catherine smiled at him, and her eyes crinkled at the corners. “You aren’t crashing; I invited you. Now c’mon.” She held out her hand, a peace offering. “Let’s go smooth things over inside and get you some grub.”

Felix supposed, as he was pulled back along, that having a sister like Catherine would have been okay.


	36. The One With the Barfight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first half of today's chapter is brought to you by "Not Afraid to die," by written by wolves, the second half by the Veer Union cover of "numb"

“Is…this the place?” Edelgard asked, her face set in grim lines.

Dimitri didn’t blame her. The Fhirdiad Bay had never been extraordinarily welcoming to begin with, and approaching a mob bar after dark in the dead of winter didn’t do much to change that.

“Yes,” Dimitri confirmed. “The Miasma Delta.”

There was no sign, and in fact, the only reason Dimitri had known where to look in the first place was Hubert. Aymr’s keyboardist had spent the last two weeks hunched over his laptop at all and odd hours, if Edelgard were to be believed, and everything was as in place as it could be.

They would avenge Rodrigue _tonight_.

Dimitri watched Edelgard pat her hip, as if to reassure herself her axe was still there, and Dimitri’s attention went immediately to the heavy handle of areadbhar in his coat pocket. The switchblade lance was well-hidden save for a TSA-style patdown, which Dimitri sincerely doubted they were in danger of at a mob bar. Hubert appeared unarmed—but then, he always did.

The moment they entered the bar, all conversations ceased. Dimitri felt their eyes boring into his back as they strode up the bar, felt their sneers tangling in his hair and clothes. He heard Edelgard order their drinks as he cast a wary eye about the room.

It was a dive, for sure. Nothing looked like it had been cleaned in weeks, and the pool table in the corner looked like it had been plucked off the curb. _Axe-head, _Dimitri noted when he spotted the man._ Three enforcers. A handful of significant others. And… shit._

Miklan Gautier was holding court in the far corner of the room, looking no worse for wear from the funeral incident. He had one arm slung around a redheaded woman wearing more skin than clothing, and a cigar smoking lazily in the other hand. He was staring at Dimitri, Edelgard, and Hubert with his brow furrowed, as if trying to place them.

They’d all dyed their hair for the evening, and Dimitri prayed that would be enough.

They took their drinks to a corner table, and the conversations slowly began bubbling up around them when it became apparent they weren’t leaving.

“How’re the kids?” a man with a gnarled scar across his temple asked one of his buddies. Their table was nearby, piled high with dirty dishes and empty glasses.

“Oldest will graduate this spring,” replied a man with only four fingers to wrap around his beer. “Youngest is already bawling about her going off to college.”

Dimitri bit back a growl. It was so _frustratingly _banal, and he knew exactly why.

“They know we don’t belong here,” Edelgard muttered.

“’Course we don’t,” Dimitri said, equally as quietly. “They’ve never seen us before.”

Edelgard sighed. “Is our guy even here?”

“I don’t think so yet,” Dimitri answered.

“Patience,” Hubert reminded them both over the rim of glass. “It’s all in hand.”

Hubert’s research had pointed them toward a handful of targets, none of whom had yet appeared at the bar. One was Axe-Head’s younger sister, who as of yet had no code name; another was Wyvern, their incredibly skilled “murder officer”; and yet another was the head of the mob himself. Dimitri doubted the mysterious King Lion would show his face, but the other two seemed like fair game.

They sipped their cocktails and chatted about nothing, perfectly aware of the growing tension they were causing but remaining purposefully oblivious.

It took everything in Dimitri not to go for his lance the moment Miklan Gautier got to his feet. Hubert kicked him surreptitiously under the table as Miklan drew nearer, and Dimitri figured it was only fair.

Miklan came to a stop at their table and announced, without preamble, “You’re new.”

“Didn’t realize this bar was for regulars only,” Edelgard said coolly.

Miklan’s eyes narrowed. “Have we met?”

“I don’t think so,” Edelgard said. “I feel like I’d remember that scar.”

Miklan’s face twitched, and this time, Hubert kicked Edelgard surreptitiously under the table. She didn’t so much as wince, didn’t take her eyes off Sylvain’s shithead older brother.

“This ain’t the bar to run your mouth at, sweetheart,” Miklan warned, lowly.

“Don’t mind my sister,” Dimitri said, pitching his voice higher than usual. “She’s just… _like_ this.”

Miklan’s gaze swiveled over to Dimitri, and Atrocity’s frontman did his best to hide beneath his newly-blackened hair the way Hubert typically did.

“Tell her to watch her mouth,” Miklan said after a moment, “before it gets her into trouble.”

Hubert opened his mouth to say something, but whatever it was would forever remain lost. For at that moment, two knocks came from the front door, loud as gunshots.

“_SEIROS SECURITY. OPEN UP!”_

The bar, unthinkably, grew even quieter_. _

The bartender made a calming motion with her hands, and then shouted, “Come back with a warrant!”

“We have one,” drifted a low, drawling voice from beyond the door. “And will be happy to present it.”

The bartender glanced over to Miklan and Axe-head, both of whom nodded and drew gleaming, silver pistols. Dimitri’s good eye widened, though he immediately tried to make his facial expression neutral again. _No, no, no, _this was not good. Guns were not good.

“You have until the count of three!” called a second, ear-scratchingly familiar voice from behind the door. “One!”

The bar tensed.

“Two!”

A few peopled ducked under tables, and Miklan, Axe-head, and a few more enforcers Dimitri didn’t recognize took aim.

“_THREE!”_

The door banged open, and it seemed like the shooters emptied their entire clips into the yawning void. The sound nearly made Dimitri vomit, and he had to shut his eye and take deep, slow breaths. It only ever sort of helped, as images of the Duscur Nightclub then flashed through his brain, instead.

When he opened his eyes again, a polycarbonate riot shield, embossed with Seiros’ logo, now took up most of the doorframe. It was dented in places, and scuffed in others, but intact.

“Try again,” the same drawl said, this time from behind the shield. “We can wait all night.”

Dimitri’s brow furrowed. Why did that voice sound familiar?

“No?” it said again. “Alright.”

A helmeted head appeared above the riot shield. Two more shots rang out, and it ducked back beneath the riot shield again.

The following silence rang in their ears.

“We have a warrant for the arrest of one specific person,” the drawling voice said, “and that’s the only one we’ll arrest tonight if you all keep your damn shirts on, alright?”

For a long moment, the bartender visibly struggled. Then she said, “Let’s see your warrant, then.”

The helmeted head didn’t move. “If I get shot at one more time, the whole place will be under arrest for possession for unlawful firearms. Am I understood?”

Whose _was _that voice? Dimitri glanced to Hubert, but the other man was paying close attention to the Seiros incursion. Edelgard wasn’t looking his way either, but was instead studying the bartender. He wondered if either of them recognized it.

“I _said,” _the bartender snapped, “let’s see your warrant.”

The drawling man stepped out from behind the riot shield, and this time, no clips emptied into his armored vest.

“Thanks,” he said. “Not so hard, eh?”

“Be about your business and go,” the bartender snapped. “I have a bar to run.”

The man gave a lazy sort of salute that Dimitri swore he recognized, and then strode over to the bar. He reached into his armored vest and then withdrew a small, folded piece of paper.

The bartender cast a wary eye over it, and then sighed, defeated. “Fine. Get ‘er and go.”

The drawling man nodded, slipped the warrant back into his vest, and then made for Miklan Gautier’s table. “Kronya Athame,” he announced, “you are under arrest for the attempted murder of Dimitri Blaiddyd, and actual murder of Rodrigue Fraldarius.”

The redheaded woman appeared as stunned as Dimitri felt. _That _wasn’t a name Hubert’s research had turned up. “You can’t prove I’ve done a damn thing,” she said.

“You have the right to remain silent,” the drawling man continued, as if she hadn’t spoken. “Anything you say can and will be held against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand your rights as they have been presented to you?”

The redheaded woman—Kronya—stared at him for an absurdly long moment, and then she ducked under the table. The drawling man let off a startled “Oof!” a half-second later, and then Kronya was sprinting across the bar, throwing glassware and cutlery on the floor behind her.

That was about when the bar erupted.

Weapons (legal ones, Dimitri couldn’t help but muse) came out—switchblades, axes, swords. Edelgard drew her own axe with a flourish, and Dimitri found himself reaching into his jacket pocket for areadbhar. The lance telescoped smoothly and without fuss.

Seiros Security guards began pouring into the bar, and all reason was lost in the resultant chaos. Bottles were shattered for makeshift weapons, fingers were lost, armored vests were caved in from heavy axe blows.

“We need to get out of here,” Hubert muttered from where he’d taken shelter under the table. He was fiddling with something in his inner coat pockets, and Dimitri really didn’t want to learn what it was.

Dimitri and Edelgard both nodded, and then areadbhar got to work.

Lances were beautiful, deadly extensions of one’s limbs, in combat. It was easy to understand why the horse masters of ancient Faerghus had favored them. Dimitri swept aside assailant after assailant, and the few that got through immediately met Edelgard’s axe. She cracked more than one armored chestplate, hidden beneath suit jackets or sweaters.

For a moment, it seemed the barfight was over. The drawling security man had Kronya cornered behind the bar itself, though he had yet to draw the sword at his hip. She fought like a cornered wildcat, slashing at the man’s heavy security uniform with a dagger she’d produced from _somewhere. _

And they would be caught like a deer in the headlights.

_“Now,” _Edelgard hissed to Hubert.

Dimitri watched as a glass flask sailed over his head and smashed into the floor in front of them—and then erupted into a sticky, acrid paste. Seirosmen and mobsters alike were suddenly stuck, paste clawing up their boots as they tried to work themselves free.

The drawling security man took advantage of the additional chaos to press forward. He slammed his shoulder into Kronya’s sternum, one hand reaching for the cuffs on his belt. But she squirmed free, working her spindly fingers under the man’s helmet and yanking upwards on her way out.

A head of dark hair came free, alongside sharp, amber eyes, and a thin, harsh mouth.

“Fucking shit!” said Dimitri.

_“Move!” _Edelgard hissed, shoving Dimitri dangerously close to the paste.

He remained frozen in place, staring.

Felix grabbed at Kronya’s wrist and twisted it backwards, until she dropped the knife in yowling pain. He reached for a fistful of Kronya’s short hair and yanked, dragging her out from behind the bar by the roots of her fake-red hair until he could get enough purchase for a full nelson.

“You’re now also under arrest for resisting arrest,” he added drily. “_Do you understand your rights as they have been presented to you?”_

Kronya loosed a screaming howl that made Dimitri viscerally wince, and she set about thrashing once again.

“Lieutenant,” Felix called over his shoulder, sounding very tired, “if you would?”

“I’m… a tad busy, captain,” said heavyset older man in the Seiros uniform who had been caught in the sticky paste.

“Fucking shit,” said Dimitri again. It was all over if Gilbert found him here.

“_Move!” _Edelgard hissed again, shoving against the wall of muscle that was her stepbrother. She may as well have told an actual brick wall to shuffle, for all he moved.

Felix glanced around wildly, searching for backup that wasn’t coming. Most of his men were occupied either with the paste or subduing the last of the mob. But then he landed on Dimitri, Edelgard, and Hubert’s table, and his eyes narrowed.

Dimitri’s good eye locked with a set of sharp amber ones, and there was no mistaking the recognition that glinted there. It quickly switched to murderous rage, and then, abruptly, nothing.

“You there,” Felix called, “with the eyepatch. Come here.”

Stunned, Dimitri had no choice but to follow orders.

_“Dima!” _Edelgard hissed, but it fell on deaf ears.

“Do me a favor and hold her steady, would you?” Felix shoved Kronya at Dimitri without so much as waiting for an answer.

Dimitri fumbled for a moment, clumsily wrestling her into another full nelson and earning a split lip for his trouble, thanks to Kronya’s bony elbow. Not even thirty seconds later, Felix had her hands cuffed and a stern hand at her bicep. She stopped her thrashing a moment later, her breathing heavy and angry.

“Thanks,” he muttered tonelessly to Dimitri. “You can go back to your drinks.”

Dimitri could only stare, wordlessly, as Felix handed Kronya over to one of his subordinates who had worked himself free of Hubert’s sticky paste. Felix then strode over to where his helmet had fallen, snatching it back up and wiping at the scratch marks on the visor.

He then turned back to face the bar. “Show’s over. Go back to your drinks.”

“We got your number, little Frad,” Miklan called over to him. His sunglasses were shattered at his breast pocket, his knuckles bloody.

“I have yours, too,” Felix told him. “It’s eight-forty-four, the code for unlawful possession of a firearm, and three-thirty-seven, the code for violating parole.”

“I told you, come back with a warrant,” the bartender snapped, “_and get the hell out of my bar!”_

“And I _told_ you,” Felix snapped back, “we’re just here for Kronya today.” He straightened up to call out, “Seiros! Move out!”

It took the rest of his Seirosmen and -women a few more minutes to work themselves free of their various entanglements, but they left the bar, one by one, leaving an unsteady silence in their wake.

“Fucking shit,” said Dimitri, a third time.

“Yeah, what he said,” one of the old mobsters said, taking a heavy swig from his (now bloodied) glass.

-)

Felix spent what felt like hours in the shower later that night, the hot water searing into his skin. His hands hadn’t stopped shaking since he’d left the Miasma Delta—not when they’d brought Kronya in for processing, nor when he’d driven through some shitty fast food joint for dinner on the way home. He was sort of impressed he hadn’t crashed into something on the way home, all told.

He’d vomited twice already, once mid-dinner and once at the beginning of this shower, and he wasn’t even certain if he were finished. It was as though all of the disgust, rage, and grief had finally broken through the mind-numbing dam of his everyday life, making him queasy and jittery.

_Dimitri was at a mob bar._

It was bad enough that his first official sting had gone belly-up. There wasn’t supposed to have been a fight, nor casualties, nor third-degree burns from whatever that sticky paste was.

There weren’t supposed to have been friends in that bar.

_Dimitri was at a mob bar._

It was bad enough that he sounded _just _like his father, telling the perpetrator _you have the right to remain silent. _It was bad enough that he’d had to have Gilbert bail him out during processing, because his mind had gone completely blank when they turned Kronya over to the Fhirdiad police proper.

There weren’t supposed to have been friends in that bar.

_Dimitri was at a mob bar, and it makes too much fucking sense._

It was his only thought as he finally turned off the water, now going cold, and found himself a towel. He checked his phone, which had been blasting Thunderbrand from the bathroom counter, and found he’d missed a good chunk of the group chat:

**[Sylvain has sent a video link.]**

**Sylvain: **what if we wore gear like this for Ailell?

**Ingrid: **I’d rather wear corpsepaint

**Sylvain: **ooo, would should have done that for Carnage!

**Annette: **ooo, darn! That would have been perfect for Felix!

There was a pause of several minutes.

**Sylvain: **nothing, fe?

**Annette: **he must still be at work. He said he had a Seiros thing tonight

God bless Annette, covering for him without knowing it.

**Sylvain: **Ah, we’ll just get shit in like, a couple of hours

It had indeed been several hours, but Felix couldn’t muster up the energy to give any of them shit, least of all Annette. His stomach flipped again, and he braced himself against the bathroom counter, waiting.

But the third round of vomit never came.

Felix continued the rest of his bathroom routine, and it eventually carried him, barefoot and with hair soaking wet, back downstairs to find something to drink. Maybe some tea would help calm his nerves.

But he froze in the foyer, startled. The Fraldarius crest was staring back at him, unfeeling, unmoving, from the floor. He must’ve crossed these blue mosaic tiles a hundred thousand times by now, but this time the heat he felt building in his throat wasn’t vomit.

It was rage.

He hated this fucking crest, hated this fucking job, hated this fucking family. He went blindly, searching for something, _anything_, that would do what needed done. Dimly, he remembered there was a huge battle axe of the mantle. It would do.

He pried it loose from its fittings, bringing several family photos from the mantle down with it. The old haft was heavy in his hands, the weight almost comforting. He turned back to go, hefting the old axe with him.

Standing over his family crest, he brought the heavy, two-handed weapon over his head and heaved.

But the crash never came.

**-)**

**Sylvain: **nothing, fe?

**Annette: **he must still be at work. He said he had a Seiros thing tonight

**Sylvain: **Ah, we’ll just get shit in like, a couple of hours

Their group chat had silenced itself hours ago, and now, Annette was tossing and turning in bed, waiting for a text that apparently wasn’t coming. She had texted Felix separately a few times, but was warring between looking desperate and being genuinely concerned.

Then she remembered it was his own fault, and sat bolt upright in bed.

Mercedes was watching TV when Annette emerged, fully dressed, from her room. “Mercie, I’m going to Fhirdiad,” she said.

Mercedes’ brow furrowed, and she glanced to her phone for the time. “It’s kind of late for that, isn’t it? Don’t you have work tomorrow?”

“I’m worried about Felix,” Annette admitted, grabbing herself a Diet Coke from the fridge. “He said he had a Seiros thing tonight, and he hasn’t responded to me or the group chat in hours.”

“Hmm.” Mercedes paused her show to come around to talk to her roommate properly. “Could it just be that it went late?”

Annette made a face. “Maybe? But I can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. And if he wants to get mad at me for showing up in the middle of the night, he can answer his phone next time.”

Mercedes nodded, at once understanding. “Drive safe, Annie. Let me know if you need me to call into work for you.”

Annette smiled through her bubbling anxiety. “You’re the best.”

And that was how she came to be speeding down the highway towards Fhirdiad. She still wasn’t fully comfortable driving Rodrigue’s car, let alone at night in largely unfamiliar territory, but was determined not to let it unnerve her.

And she _still_ couldn’t shake the feeling that something was very wrong.

It was possible—and perhaps, probable—that whatever he’d had to do for work had just gone late, since he’d mentioned it would be his first official Seiros mission. Maybe they were just standing guard somewhere, and the event went late? Maybe she would show up to Fraldarius Manor at nearly one in the morning and just... find him passed out in bed, or not home?

An even darker voice in her head went through all of the possible ways this could be a horrible idea. She could crash on the road there. He could be angry she had shown up unannounced. He could be sleeping with some pretty detective who had a curvier body than her. He could be dead, and no one knew yet.

She couldn’t shake those, either, but was determined not to let it stop her. She would withstand whatever this was with her head held high, the way she did when she sang onstage.

She and Felix both deserved no less, after all.

His car was in the driveway when she rolled up at quarter to one, and it assuaged at least a few of her fears. He wasn’t dead, at the very least. And he was probably alone.

She didn’t bother to knock, just let herself in with the key Felix had given her, Sylvain, and Ingrid.

It was like when he’d yelled at her father, but so much worse. He stood, barefoot, his wet hair clinging to his face and shoulders, in the middle of his family crest outlined on the floor—only this time, a massive battle axe was outlined by moonlight in his hands.

Where had he gotten that thing? And what was he...?

Oh.

Oh _no._

Annette’s feet were moving before she’d even fully processed anything. She put herself between the axe and the floor, something deep in her heart telling her that even if he wanted this now, he’d regret it later.

She caught the axe on its downswing, her arms shaking with the effort.

For a moment, he could only stare at her, amber eyes wide in the moonlit gloom. “Annette?” he rasped.

“Felix! What are you _doing?”_

He was blinking at her, uncomprehending. “What are you _doing _here?”

Annette threw the axe off its course, and Felix let it fall limply to the ground. Her shoulders burned. “You weren’t answering your phone,” she said, quietly. She shut her eyes and braced herself for the oncoming rant. “I was worried.”

Instead, she heard the axe clatter to the ground, and then felt herself wrapped up in a massive bear hug. She immediately opened her eyes and squeezed back, and it was only then that she realized Felix was shaking, violently.

She carefully lowered them both to the floor, coaxing Felix with soothing words and gentle circles rubbed into his back. He curled around her further, as though she were the only thing keeping him tethered to the here and now.

And maybe she was.

“What happened?” she murmured, moving to run her fingers through his half-dried hair.

Felix shook his head and buried it deeper in the crook of her shoulder, and Annette was fairly certain that was the exact moment her heart broke.

She wasn’t sure when she started humming, or when it became signing, but she knew damn well when his shoulders stopped shaking.

_"Stand up as one,_

_We’ve nothing to hide._

_Into the night,_

_Together we ride._

_There’s no holding back,_

_And we couldn’t if we tried._

_Just drink in the rage—_

_Together, we ride."_

Although the other one didn’t know it, both Felix and Annette could hear the solo that followed—Felix, Glenn’s version, and Annette, Felix’s.

Felix finally muttered something into her shoulder, and Annette had to pull him back. “What, sorry?”

“It was so fucked up,” he mumbled again. “So, _so _fucked up. We were just supposed to arrest the bitch who shot my dad, it wasn’t… wasn’t supposed to…”

Annette hushed him, bringing him in tightly to her chest.

“Annette,” he muttered after a moment, “’Nette… I don’t think I’m okay.”

It was like a dam broke, and suddenly Felix was a crying, shaking mess.

“I got you.” Annette made soothing noises and brushed back his hair again. “I’m here.”

She had no idea how long they stayed like that.


	37. The One Where Dimitri Brings Donuts

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> today's chapter is brought to you by "I will fail you" by Demon Hunter

Felix awoke in an incredibly disoriented haze, as he was pretty sure he had never felt this warm in his entire life. Showers were nothing, down blankets were nothing—_this _was what he’d needed to actually chase out the chill of this goddamn manor. Maybe he could spend the rest of his life here, and not have to go back into work? That sounded pretty good.

It took him another minute to realize the reason why his normally cold bed was so comfortable—_Annette_.

She was curled like a cat into his side, an arm thrown protectively around his middle. He was holding her to his chest, resting his forehead against the crown of her head. Her gentle snoring pushed his bangs to and fro, but he couldn’t find it in himself to mind.

He was just, so warm.

When she’d stayed at the manor previously, she’d always crashed in one of the guest rooms. But last night slowly came back to him, in bits and pieces—they’d been talking late into the night, she’d been tired, he’d thrown a blanket on her. They had snuggled before now, of course, but it felt like something else entirely to have her _in his bed. _It sent warning bells careening through his still-drowsy consciousness, even as he melted into her warmth.

And then the rest of the events from last night rushed back with frightening clarity, and damn them all, Felix held on tighter.

His phone began to buzz from the side table, and at first, he tried to ignore it. Damn Seiros Security, and damn whomever was calling. He would smooth over whatever issues came up when he was properly awake, later.

But when it buzzed through its fourth set, Felix gave in and answered the call.

“’Lo?” he grunted.

“Felix!” Dimitri said. “I’m glad I caught you, I’m—”

_Click._

The process repeated itself again a few moments later.

“’Lo?”

“Felix! Seriously, I’m—”

_Click. _

Another.

“’Ello?”

“Dammit Felix, I am outside and trying to—”

_Click._

Annette stirred, making what were, perhaps, the most adorable sounds Felix had ever heard. “’S going on?” she mumbled.

“’Mitri’s bein’ an ass.” Felix snuggled back up against her. His whole being seemed to feel better when he was touching her. “Don’ worry about it.”

“Dimitri?” Annette’s eyes were still shut and the rest of her was burrowing against him. “Not Sylvain or Ingrid?”

“Nah,” Felix confirmed. “He’ll fuck off eventually.”

His phone buzzed through one more phone call, and then came blessed silence. Annette sighed, her breath hot and ticklish on his neck, and burrowed further into his chest. “Yer… s’comfy,” she muttered.

Felix wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t going to die of embarrassment later, but also, he never wanted to leave her arms, his bed, their quiet. He would worry about his job, his coworkers, and Kronya Athame later, if only he could just… stay.

A monumental crash came from the general vicinity of the front doors, and Felix and Annette were both startled upright.

They shared an alarmed glance, and then took off towards the source of the noise.

-)

Down in the foyer, Felix stubbed his toe on the battle axe from last night, and was in an even fouler mood when he wrenched open the front door.

Dimitri had to halt himself from knocking on Felix’s forehead. He stood on the Fraldarius’ front porch that rainy morning, balancing a cardboard drink tray with coffees and a takeout bag that looked mysteriously like the ones from Ubert’s.

“Fuck off,” said Felix, and slammed the door shut.

Or tried to, anyway. Dimitri’s booted foot wedged itself into the crack between door and frame just in time. Dimitri bit back a curse on impact, and for a moment, almost sounded like himself.

“Dammit, Felix,” he said, instead. “Will you just let me in?”

Felix glared at him through the crack in the doorframe. “Why the _fuck _should I?”

“First of all,” Dimitri said, “I brought donuts.”

“I don’t do sweets.”

“I know that; that’s why I got you a cinnamon scone instead. But second of all, because I need you to understand what happened last night.”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Felix tried to wrench the heavy front door back shut, but he froze mid-movement.

“Felix,” said a quiet, feminine voice that took Dimitri a moment to place. “I think you should hear him out.”

“I know you do.” Felix was no longer talking to him. “Of course you do.”

“Come on.” Annette pried his hands away from the door far more gently than Ingrid or Sylvain could have ever hoped to. “And you,” she added, to Dimitri, now, “come inside.”

Dimitri did as ordered, grateful to be out of the rain. “I’m sorry, Annette. I didn’t know you were here, or I would have gotten you something.”

“How could you have possibly known?” she asked, not really to him. “I wasn’t supposed to be.”

Dimitri figured he’d woken Felix up, judging by his voice in their various phone calls (which was admittedly a lofty term for them) and the rats’ nest he was currently wrestling into a bun, but as he followed them into the kitchen, Dimitri realized he’d apparently also woken Annette. Her hair was sticking up every which way, but the thing Dimitri zeroed in on was the fact that she was wearing Felix’s most cherished Black Iron Spurs shirt as a sleeping shirt.

Felix got behind the kitchen island and folded his arms. “Well,” he said. “Speak.”

Dimitri set the carryout down, retrieving one of the coffees for himself and leaving the other alone. A peace offering.

“I’m not sure what you could possibly have to tell me that would clear your name,” Felix added. He was staring at him now, through heavy lidded eyes—analyzing.

Dimitri couldn’t help it; he gave a heavy sigh. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of the Tragedy at Duscur, and I…”

For how exhausted he looked, Felix’s anger was fiery as ever: “Not this fuckin’ conspiracy theory again!”

“Felix!” Annette shouted, and it was the first time Dimitri had ever seen Felix physically recoil. “Just… let him speak,” she added, much more quietly.

“Fine,” said Felix, whirling on Dimitri, “then look at it this way. Via Occam’s razor, you were at that bar because you’re so incensed over Duscur, you joined the mob in the hopes of uncovering some fuckin’ plot that would make it all make sense.” He flicked a glance upwards, and Felix “I hate eye contact” Fraldarius held Dimitri’s dead-eyed stare. 

“Prove me wrong.”

Dimitri nodded, just once, and pushed the takeout bag (and what was meant to have been his donut) towards Annette. “I’m trying to get to the bottom of the Tragedy at Duscur. I have been working with Edelgard and Hubert to understand what happened, and why, and that’s why I was at that bar last night.”

Felix studied him for an extra moment, as if to assure Annette that Dimitri was finished speaking, before he said, “And how did you know to be there?”

Dimitri took a bracing swig of coffee, and then rolled the dice: “Because Edelgard’s family runs the Enbarr mob.”

Felix blinked at him a few times, uncomprehending. “So, I wasn't that far from the mark. You _did_ join the mob, just not the Fhirdiad one.”

Silence fell across the Fraldarius’ cold, stone kitchen.

“Well,” Dimitri said after a moment, “I suppose I did.”

“You _suppose!?” _Felix was suddenly before him, shoving as hard as he could. “The fuck you mean you _suppose?”_

Dimitri didn’t budge.

“It’s not exactly an official thing.” Dimitri scratched at where his eyepatch sat in his hairline. “No oaths, no tattoos.”

Felix’s angry stare had morphed to horror, and suddenly Dimitri was looking at the face that had stared back at him after the show at Remire, after his first depressive episode where’d broken their kitchen table, after Duscur.

Always, Duscur.

“How _could _you?” Felix hissed, before pressing his hand into his mouth. 

“No one believed me.” Dimitri was staring at his boots, aware of the stares digging into him like spears. “The police academy kicked me out, for asking questions. I was barred from the legal library in the governor’s mansion. None of the cabinet will even talk to me, anymore. I tried_, _Felix. I _tried!”_

Silence greeted him.

And then a sharp: “Why should I believe any of this?” 

“Because I’m telling you!” Dimitri burst out. “I have _been _telling you! For years! Something is deeply fucked up in Fhirdiad, and no one is doing a damn thing about it!”

“Except for you?” Felix sneered.

“Yes!” Dimitri said, earnestly. “And it all centers on Volkhard von Arundel and I think Ailell is going to go sideways, with all of us in it!”

Felix froze. “You what?”

“Aiell,” Dimitri repeated, much more softly. “We think he’s going to make his next chess move at Ailell.”

Annette gasped softly, even as Felix’s brow furrowed. “Why bother to make such a big deal about it?” he asked. “What does he gain?”

“If we know anything about Arundel,” Dimitri said, “we know this: that man _loves _an audience.”

Felix stared at him for a long, excruciating moment.

“Alright,” he finally said, “say I believe you. Say I agree something is going to blow up at Ailell. Do you have proof?”

Dimitri could have cried in relief.

And that was how Dimitri, Felix, and Annette came to be clustered around Dimitri’s smartphone, watching Hubert’s “What we know” slideshow. Felix absorbed it all wordlessly, Annette anxiously, until Dimitri reached the slide about Glenn.

“This was taken on October eighteenth, five years ago. Rumors have been spreading that not everyone died in the Tragedy of Duscur who should have.” The photo was a grainy one of a man that looked uncomfortably like a Fraldarius, too old to be Felix and too young to be Rodrigue or Piers, as he walked down a boardwalk in Deirdru.

Annette’s leg had been bobbing anxiously up and down for most of the slideshow, but she froze at this information. “Felix,” she said, fear creeping into her voice, “is that…?”

Felix had gone very still, and was squinting at Dimitri’s phone. He batted Dimitri’s hands out of the way and pried the picture open wider, something desperate in his movements. He stared harder, brow furrowing even more deeply.

And then he dropped the phone in disgust. “That’s my fucking cousin.”

It was Dimitri’s turn to be silenced. “I… beg your pardon?” he managed after a moment.

“My _cousin, _Arianna,” Felix snapped, scrolling furiously through his phone, “from Piers’ first marriage.”

A moment later he held up his phone, displaying a picture of a smiling woman with dark, Fraldarius hair leaning against the railing of the Deirdru boardwalk with her friends. Se was wearing the same sweatshirt as the “man” in the picture Hubert had.

Dimitri blinked at the news. “I didn’t know you had another cousin.”

“She’s like fifteen years older than me and never comes home for Thanksgiving,” Felix said. “So, yeah. You don’t fuckin’ say.” He abruptly got to his feet. “This is stupid. Get your ass out of my house before I do my actual duty and arrest you.”

“Felix,” said Annette, eyes wide in horror, but grim determination set into her face. “I believe him.”

Felix blinked—once, twice, thrice—and it was hard to tell which boy looked more stunned.

“Even if some of his math doesn’t add up,” Annette said, the words flying out of her mouth like she couldn’t speak them fast enough, “Hubert’s logic is sound. Why would someone so carefully plan a shooting at a small dive bar like Duscur? Because they knew the governor and his family would be there.

“Why was someone trying to shoot Dimitri at the baseball game? Because he wasn’t supposed to have survived Duscur, and it’s equally as public an outing—and it would look bad for Seiros Security, to boot.

“Why is Arundel pressing so hard for collaboration at Ailell? Because it puts all of his enemies in the same place at once, onstage.”

Both boys stared at her, Dimitri in open-mouthed shock and Felix with his brow so deeply furrowed Annette wasn’t sure it would ever properly smooth back out.

“He could very neatly take care of Edelgard and Dimitri and make it look like another random shooting,” she added. “Could take care of Hubert, too, since if Edelgard died we all know he’d lose his shit. _And, _like Dimitri said, Arundel gets his audience if it’s Ailell he’s aiming for.”

At their continued staring, Annette added, somewhat embarrassedly, “Mercedes went through a true crime phase, okay?”

“If I had died at the baseball game,” Dimitri said slowly, as though just now working this out, “the media would have blamed Seiros Security.”

Annette nodded. “It would have tanked their credibility, and no one would look at Arundel sideways for pulling them out of Ailell.”

“Leaving Edelgard the only thing standing in his way at the Enbarr mob,” Dimitri added. “Annette, you’re a genius!”

“None of this explains Miklan,” Felix inputted sharply.

“I think Miklan is working for governor Cornelia, personally,” Dimitri said. “He’s probably her ear into the Fhirdiad mob.”

“Why?” Felix pressed.

“I overheard her talking to him at the Governor’s ball,” Dimitri said. “She asked him how his latest projects were going, and he gave answers that didn’t seem like normal business, but didn’t’ _not _seem like normal business, y’know?”

“Hasn’t he only recently been let out of jail?” Annette asked. “Who would hire him? And for what?”

“Exactly.”

Felix quietly drank all of this information in.

“So then,” Felix said, chewing his words over carefully before speaking them, “if Aiell does what he wants it to, Arundel gets Enbarr, Cornelia gets Fhirdiad, and all they need is Deirdru to control the black network in Fodlán.”

Dimitri made a face. “Precisely. And Arundel has been talking about holding the next ‘Ailell’ there, and we know for sure he’s hosting smaller concerts there for the Ailell hype.”

Felix stared at his girlfriend and his ex-best friend for a long, terrible moment

“It wasn’t the Fhirdiad mob declaring war on us, back on New Years’ Eve,” Felix said, his voice very low. “It was Miklan telling _you _he’s gunning for you.”

His legs gave out, and suddenly Felix had been dumped on the cold tile floor of his childhood kitchen. The world began shifting in and out of focus, and he could feel his heartbeat in his throat, the back of his head, his back, his fingertips. He tried to take deep breaths and count to five or whatever it was his therapists had said, but nothing was sticking. It was like he was sliding over ice, trying to make his claw-less fingers gain purchase.

He put his head in his hands and pressed his forehead into his knees and tried to _think._

He slowly became aware that Dimitri was talking to him, that Annette was talking to him. Their voices filtered sluggishly through the marbled distortion of his panicked mind.

“I’m fine,” Felix snapped at them. 

“Here,” Annette said softly, pressing a glass of water into his hands. “Please drink it. For me.”

Felix took an appeasement sip, and then set the glass down. “Get off me,” he barked at Dimitri, half-heartedly.

Dimitri still let go of his arm, allowing Annette to pull Felix into a tight hug. Dimitri didn’t miss how Felix’s shoulders untensed, when she did so. She let go a few moments later, patting his face as she did.

“It’s gonna be Ailell,” Felix said, the horror still seeping through the cracks in his anxious mind, “isn’t it?”

Dimitri nodded. “I think so.”

“Fucking shit,” said Felix, burying his head in his knees again.

“I know it’s not exactly in your nature,” Dimitri said, rocking back to a more comfortable position on his haunches, “but I think you should play in the tribute band with me.”

“I won’t be Glenn for them.” Felix didn’t look up.

Dimitri winced. “Not for that. For how close it will put us both to Arundel, and to Catherine. I think she can help us.”

“She’s just a rock star,” Felix said.

“A rock star with more connections than you and I, combined. Plus, she’s married to our old fencing coach. Maybe they can convince President Rhea to come out of political retirement.”

Felix hadn’t moved. “They can have you and the music you stole. I don’t care.”

Annette drew in a sharp breath, and Dimitri’s face twisted in both pity and pain. “If I had known it would hurt you so much, I never would have had Atrocity play a Spurs song. I hope you know that.”

“They weren't yours to take.” Something deep in Felix had snapped, some old well of hurt rising into his heart, his throat, his lungs.

“Felix,” Dimitri said, gently, “he was my brother, too.”

“_No, he wasn’t!”_

Felix launched himself at Dimitri, knocking the both of them into the hard tile floor, their skulls missing the cabinets by a fraction of an inch. Annette gave a startled yelp and moved to pry them apart, but not before Felix had clawed at Dimitri’s exposed chin and Dimitri had gotten a good elbow in.

“_Gentlemen!” _Annette shouted, holding the both of them as far as apart as her short arms allowed. “Glenn loved the both of you!”

They froze, Atrocity’s frontman and Aegis’ guitarist.

“He had to have,” Annette added, “the way you both talk about him.”

Felix stared at her unblinkingly, his split lip oozing blood. Dimitri’s hand had gone to his wounded eye to hold his now-ripped eyepatch in place, but his good eye didn’t leave her face.

Annette’s lip wobbled, but her voice did not. “You don’t need to fight like this.”

For a long moment, Felix and Dimitri remained silent. 

Then,

“How’d you get that stupid eyepatch, anyway?” Felix said.

“Some fuckwad at the police academy came at me with a knife,” Dimitri said. “He claimed I started it, so out I went.”

“How typical.” Felix sighed. “This… whatever-it-is with Arundel is much bigger than it should be, isn’t it?

“I know.” Dimitri’s smile was wry. “I’ve been trying to tell you.”


	38. The One Where Felix Holds the Line

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter brought to you by "Too Loud" by Icon for Hire
> 
> If you like my work, [come hang out on twitter!](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)
> 
> Also, TW Specifically here for self harm and mentions of suicide

Sylvain did _not _like Aegis' new living arrangements. 

He knew he shouldn't complain. After all, he hadn’t lost _his _dad, and his significant other still lived down the hall. But as April wore into May, band practice had all but come to screeching halt, relegated to Saturday afternoons and Friday evenings, if that, and Felix, naturally, could no longer stay at the Golden Deer until God only knew on Sunday nights.

Clients were clients, as impossibly demanding as ever. And school was school, as difficult as ever. Sylvain and Ingrid often worked side by side at the kitchen table, she deeply engrossed in chemistry, and he making faces at the websites he was crafting.

And yet, their house felt so empty without its third.

And on the nights where Ingrid worked late, Sylvain had the whole, empty place to himself. The first few times had been great—he’d played video games on the couch in his underwear, and no one had been there to yell at him over it. But each subsequent night had gotten lonelier and lonelier until he’d finally given up on the whole “no pants” thing and went to go “do work” at Mercedes’ bakery, just to chase out the silence.

He frequently was on reddit or watching YouTube videos until 15 minutes prior to close (he wasn’t a savage, after all).

But this Friday night, Ingrid was hanging out with Annette and Mercedes for a rare girls’ night, Felix wasn’t coming home, and Crusher didn’t want to cuddle, so Sylvain was completely, utterly, alone.

And it hadn’t seemed like a bad idea, at first. He and Felix had drunk beer and played video games plenty of times, especially the ones with super long load screens. He found himself drunk by the third Skyrim quest, but with nothing better to do and his hand-eye coordination shot, he kept at both the drinking and the dragonslaying.

“Maybe I should play drums,” Sylvain muttered to himself sometime deep into the evening, as he got up to get himself another beer. He was slurring to his own ear, and was dismayed to find he’d gone through his entire six pack of stouts.

He stood there, blinking stupidly at the empty refrigerator shelf, and then declared to the empty room that it was time to switch tactics.

It took some fiddling, but eventually he had the round whiskey ice out of its nifty mold, and then two, three, four fingers of whiskey followed. He toasted his Dragonborn, standing idly across the room, and then drank deeply.

It tasted like all those college parties where he’d made dumb decisions.

Hadn’t there been more whiskey, in this glass? Huh, how strange. He poured himself more before heading back over to the couch. He sloshed whiskey all over himself in the process of trying to sit down, and, grumblingly, he got up to go clean himself off in the bathroom.

His glass had come with him, and so the process turned out something like dab-dab-_drink, _dab-dab-_drink, _until it was nearly empty again. Sylvain took a moment to marvel that the ice hadn’t seemed to have melted at all. _Felix was so smart, buying these._

It was then that he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Sylvain gave a startled shout and fell over backwards into the shower, taking the curtain down with him.

His father had been staring back at him.

Sylvain had always known that, of course. It was hard not to see the family resemblance in the Gautier line. Miklan had always had the more rugged appearance, even before the scar, what with his sturdy jawline and heavyset brow. Sylvain had always taken more after their mother—a little leaner, a little less Schwarzenegger—but with bloodshot eyes and a lazy smile, he could have been his father, oozing back in the front door from a “client meeting.”

Sylvain supposed, logically, some of them actually _were _client meetings. His father had to have made money somehow. Happy hours were normal business things, getting maybe a little too tipsy was a normal business thing, right?

But Sylvain also knew that most of them were not client meetings but “client meetings.” He knew his father had been philandering longer than his sons had been alive, and silly things like ‘children’ and ‘propriety’ and ‘fidelity’ weren’t going to stop him.

It was hard to look in the mirror and see that bastard, but it also wasn’t like Sylvain had much of a choice. Maybe plastic surgery was an option?

_Oh, but you need money for that, _Sylvain remembered a moment later. And as of New Years’ Day, he’d been officially cut off from the family fortune.

It was just as well. He’d been skirting the line for years, avoiding grad school, avoiding the house he’d grown up in, avoiding everything and everyone except his band. His parents (well, mostly his dad, to be real, here) were bound to get fed up eventually.

Sylvain just wished he knew why it still hurt.

He went to pick up his whiskey glass and go back to Skyrim, but he fumbled it, and watched dumbly as it tumbled end over end before shattering on the cheap rental tile. He stared at it for a moment in drunk disbelief, even as whiskey seeped into the bathroom rug.

Oh, this was just _perfect._

With a sigh, he brought the trashcan around. He picked up the now ruined ice cube (sphere? He supposed it was an ice sphere, but that sounded incredibly pretentious) and chucked it into the tub, where it clattered satisfyingly against the tile. He then began gingerly picking up shards of glass and placing them far more delicately into the trash can.

He yelped when one cut his finger, and he immediately stuck it in his mouth to soothe the sting.

The sharp, unexpected pain had cut through everything—the drunken haze, the sadness, the loneliness, the out-of-controlness of everything—and Sylvain found himself wondering if it would work a second time.

He reached for the shard of glass again, and paused over his fingertip. He didn’t really want to hurt, and yet, he did. Just like always. Maybe it was no different from the drugs he’d done in college, seeking clarity, seeking understanding, seeking _something. _He’d mostly stopped since Ingrid had moved in and gotten shitty with him about their bathroom smelling like weed, but sometimes he wished he were still chasing that perfect moment of silent clarity.

Maybe this was the answer?

He opened the cut on his fingertip wider.

-)

Felix was exhausted, all the time, as a general rule, these days. But something was signing in the back of his mind, preventing him from sleep. Annette, Mercedes, and Ingrid were having a girls’ night, so he couldn’t bother his girlfriend or his bassist, and Sylvain had stopped responding hours ago, saying he was going to play Skyrim and there might be delays in his answers.

_Delays, my ass, _Felix thought. The bastard had simply stopped responding.

His conversation with Dimitri and Annette from the other day still rang in his mind like a Thunderbrand song, and he knew he needed to get Ingrid and Sylvain together to talk with them about it, so that they would know maybe Dima wasn’t as crazy as they’d all originally thought.

But that isn’t what kept him awake, tonight. He and Annette had already planned to talk to them next weekend, when he got back. 

No, Sylvain’s lack of response is what made him stare at the damn ceiling with his pulse pounding in his ears.

_I just felt like something wasn’t right, _Annette had said when he’d asked her why she’d shown up at one in the morning the other night. _I couldn’t sleep, and you weren’t answering your phone, and I was just really worried._

Well, Felix supposed, now it was his turn. 

He threw off the covers and hissed at the cold. He was _seriously _going to have to do something about the heating in this place; it seemed like it had only gotten colder since Annette had left again. He’d wished she could have stayed the whole week, maybe the whole miserable year, but she’d already had to call off work one day because of his anxiety-stricken ass. He wasn’t about to make her take more.

He waited just long enough for his coffee to brew before setting off towards Garreg Mach Town.

The highways were mostly deserted at this hour, and so it was just Felix and the truckers making the darkened drive. He blasted Falconer and Volbeat and tried not to let the panic rise in his throat as it got later and later and his phone screen remained suspiciously blank.

It just _wasn’t _like him to do that. Beyond the fact that he took client calls at all hours and practically lived on Instagram, Sylvain was the _first _to respond to the group chat, always. He usually texted back night immediately, even just to say ‘lol’ at a meme. His PSN username was also online, but even pinging him that way hadn’t brought an answer.

And Felix may have been an anxious fuck these days, but he wasn’t stupid.

He pulled up to their rental house well past midnight, parking right beside Sylvain’s car. (That was good, at least he was definitely here.) The sudden silence when Felix opened his car door set his ears ringing. Gravel crunched under his boots as he made his way up their driveway, and anxiety buzzed in his mind.

It was all too much like New Years’ Eve.

But there was no lion on the wall when he entered, and Sylvain’s absurdly modded Dragonborn was idling on the TV screen. Maybe he had gone to the bathroom?

“Sylvain?” Felix called.

His voice echoed in the silence.

Warning bells sang in the back of his mind as he approached the couch. Sylvain had left the TV on and PS4 running, and his controller sat in a nest of empty beer bottles and snack wrappers.

Felix’s stomach dropped through his boots, and he bolted towards Sylvain’s room.

_No, no, no, _this was not happening. Sylvain was fine, right? His meds were fine. They’d figured out a dose, and he didn’t want to kill himself anymore, and he was okay now, right? He could drink beer now, _right?_

Felix nearly screamed when Sylvain’s room turned up empty, his bed neatly made and desk chair pushed in.

_Think, Fraldarius, think! _Maybe he was downstairs? (_Although, _Felix’s still-logical brain told him, _if he were playing drums, wouldn’t I be able to hear him?)_

He raced towards the basement door anyway, but a noise from the bathroom gave him pause. Felix’s boots practically skidded on the fake hardwood in his haste to turn around, and he pounded on the bathroom door obscenely loudly.

“_SYLVAIN!?” _he hollered.

Silence, and then a startled, hiccupping, “_Felix?_ No, no, nononono you can’t be Felix. Felix is in Fhirdiad.”

Sylvain’s words were slurring something fierce, and so Felix braced himself for whatever state of undress his old roommate might be in, and pushed open the bathroom door.

The first thing he saw was blood.

The bathroom tiles were splattered with it. Sylvain’s shirt was splattered with it. His hand, wrist, arm were splattered with it. 

Panic flared, bright and fierce, in Felix’s chest.

“Oh my god, Feeelix,” Sylvain managed from his position in the tub. The curtain appeared to have fallen on top of him. “No no no, you’re not supposed to be here.”

“The fuck I am!” Felix shouted. “What the fuck happened?”

“I…” Sylvain’s eyes blinked at different times as he tried to remember. “I… spilled m’drink. Came here to… clean it up.”

“The _blood, _Sylvain, why are you _bleeding?”_

Sylvain held his hand up, like a child reaching to be held. “My glass bit me.”

Felix stared at his friend’s ruined fingertips, each one more jagged than the last. “Your glass did this?”

Sylvain said nothing, but brought his hand back down. His whole body seemed to curl in on itself.

Realization dawned, and Felix’s eyes went wide. “Let me see your hand again.”

“Nononononono...” Sylvain had dissolved into spewing nonsense. 

“Up!” Felix barked, grabbed a fistful of Sylvain’s shirt and yanking.

Sylvain stumbled on the way out of the tub and to his feet, knocking into Felix. Aegis’ notoriously slight guitarist only just managed to hold them both upright, although he jammed his hip painfully into the bathroom counter for his trouble. He snatched at Sylvain’s ruined hand again, and the redhead was too drunk to stop him.

It was as he’d suspected; the cuts looked intentional.

“_Sit,” _Felix growled, heaving Sylvain onto the toilet seat cover. He felt brown, puppy-dog eyes on him as he went to retrieve bandages and Neosporin from the cupboard.

“Am I in trouble?” Sylvain asked.

“The _fuck _you are,” Felix barked. “What were you _thinking?”_

“I dunno.” Sylvain gave an overexaggerated shrug. “I was… _feeling. _It _felt. _Y’know?”

Felix tried not to break the faucet as he turned it on and ran some toilet paper under it. “Hand out.”

Sylvain sheepishly held out his cut-up hand, and Felix began cleaning the blood away. He worked in increasingly tense silence until Sylvain burst out, “Please don’t tell Ingrid. You _can’t _tell Ingrid.”

“You never change,” came flying out of Felix’s mouth. “You always…” Tears stung at the corners of his eyes and Felix stubbornly tried to ignore them. “Always…” 

He could no longer speak; the tears left unshed threatened to choke him.

“Nonono, Fe,” Sylvain mumbled. “Don’t cry. Please?”

“Don’t be fucking stupid.” Felix lashed out with a heavy-handed punch that landed solidly on Sylvain’s shoulder. The drunk blithely ignored it.

He continued cleaning Sylvain’s wounds in that tense silence, only punctuated by pained whimpers. The tears from earlier, still left unshed, were lodged in his throat. Felix used to wish he was less of a stress crier, but this was worse than when the dam used to just break.

God, it was so much worse.

“You remember when we were kids,” Sylvain burst out, “and we promised we’d stick together until we died?”

Felix didn’t look up from the bandages. “Yeah.” 

“I know I’m not allowed to kill myself,” Sylvain said, more quietly than his drunk self would typically. “Not when it means leaving you behind.”

“Then _stop. Doing. This,” _Felix bit off.

“I was sad!” Sylvain defended.

“_You’re always sad,” _Felix fired back. “And so am I! We’re fucked up that way!”

Bandages done, Felix slapped the box back into the cabinet. Sylvain was staring at him with a look Felix couldn’t place—something like pity, like horror, like resignation.

“You're different, Felix,” he finally said. “You used to be so, I don't know... carefree when we were younger. Now you're the exact opposite.”

Felix’s fists clenched at his sides, and he could no longer look at Sylvain. “Yeah, well. That’s what happens when your family keels over and leaves you holding the crest.”

Felix yelped when Sylvain grabbed him and pulled him into a very forceful, very drunken hug. He hissed when Sylvain didn’t immediately let go, and began tugging at his arms. 

“Get… off… me!” Felix barked.

“No,” said Sylvain. “You promised. You’re stuck with me.”

“Stuck _with _you, not stuck _to _you!”

In their commotion, they hadn’t heard the front door slam, or Ingrid announce she’d arrived back home. They didn’t hear her boots on the fake hardwood laminate, nor her keys clatter against the kitchen table. They didn’t even hear when she pushed open the bathroom door.

What they _did _hear was “Felix? What are you doing—_oh my god, Sylvain, what happened?”_

All of the drunken warmth left Sylvain in an instant. “Ingrid?” he called softly. “You’re… not supposed to be here.”

“I stopped drinking a while ago,” she admitted. “You weren’t sending memes or pictures of your stupid Dragonborn, so I was worried.” She took a few, hesitant steps forward. “Why haven’t you let go of Felix?”

“Seriously, why?” Felix snapped.

Sylvain shook under the weight of their concern. His brain could form the words, but he couldn't make his mouth speak them. He clung to Felix like that was the only thing keeping him upright—and to be honest, it might very well have been.

Ingrid pulled his arm free, and inserted herself under it, so that Felix was propping Sylvan up by one armpit, and she the other. “What did you do to your hand?” she asked, green eyes going wide at the mess of gauze.

She didn’t _sound _mad, but Sylvain burst into tears anyway.

“He cut it,” Felix said, dragging the three of them towards the bathroom door.

“Then where is all this blood…?”

“Ingrid,” Felix interrupted. “_He cut it.”_

She froze, and Sylvain sobbed harder.

“‘M sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Sylvain’s words were running together, and he was trying to squirm away from his friends. But they wouldn’t let him, both holding fast. “I was… I just… _feeling.” _He was wildly, desperately, looking for words. Any of them. They were usually so quick to his tongue, and now when he needed them, they disappeared. “It _felt.”_

Ingrid swung around so that she was pressed to his chest and looking up at him, rather than beside him and propping him up. “Sylvain,” she said, “look at me.”

He did his best not to, but Felix’s guitar-strong hand twisted his head back around to face her. Tears and snot were streaked across his normally quite handsome face.

“Sylvain,” Ingrid said again, “the next time you feel like you want to hurt yourself, I want you to call me. I don’t care what I’m doing.”

“I didn’t wanna bother you,” he said, his voice very small.

Ingrid put a hand to his face to make _damn _sure he was looking at her. “You will _never _be a bother to me. Okay?”

“That’s not true,” Sylvain hiccupped. “I bother you all the time. Felix too. You always say so.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “Your insatiable flirting is annoying. _You _are not.”

Ingrid nodded fiercely, and gripped Sylvain tightly around his waist.

A racking sob left his throat, and Sylvain buried his head in the crook of Ingrid’s neck. Felix let go of them both, patting Ingrid awkwardly on the shoulder as he passed. She figured he was tapping out, and she couldn’t really blame him. He must have felt the wrongness tonight, too, or else he wouldn’t have bothered driving all the way down here. But Felix was not the cavalry of their friend group.

She was.

And she held onto her other half for a long, long time.


	39. The One Where Hubert Does What He Does Best

The next morning, Ingrid, Felix, Sylvain, and Annette sat clustered around Aegis’ kitchen table. Sylvain was wincing as his bandaged hand pressed against his coffee mug, but otherwise looked none the worse for wear. Felix and Ingrid looked far paler and worn.

And that was before Felix and Annette began filling in the other half of the band on what was likely going on with Ailell.

“...So what you’re saying,” Ingrid said very carefully, “is that Dimitri _hasn’t _been spouting conspiracy theories this whole time?”

“Not entirely.” Felix took a long, tired sip of coffee. “Unfortunately.”

It fell across the table like the tolling of a bell.

“Fucking shit,” said Ingrid.

“That's what we said,” Annette told her.

“I’d ask if we still have Bailey’s,” Sylvain muttered, “but my head hurts.”

“Might make your head hurt less,” Felix said, at the same time Ingrid shouted “_no!”_

“Easy, Ingy,” Sylvain said with a grimace. “Please.”

Ingrid pressed her lips together in a thin, unamused line. “So, now what do we do?

For a moment, silence fell. 

“I don’t know.” Sylvain deflated, head going into his hands. “I hate this.”

And then Felix said, “Mood.”

And Ingrid said, “God, same.” 

And Annette said, “This is awful.”

Sylvain’s head jerked up, and then the four of them were simply staring at each other blankly across the kitchen table like a real family.

“Maybe you could move in with Felix?” Annette finally said. “I don’t think either of you should be alone anymore.”

A very red-faced Felix opened his mouth to say something, only to be interrupted by a heavy knock on Aegis’ front door. 

The band exchanged wary glances. “Is anyone expecting anyone?” Ingrid asked. 

The boys and Annette slowly shook their heads. 

“Great.” Ingrid moved to get up, only to be cut off by Felix‘s explosive move towards the door. 

Of all the people they expected to knock at this hour, among the last was Edelgard von Hresvelg. She was dressed far too well for how early it was, and smiled anxiously at Felix’s confused face. “Good morning, Felix. May I come in?” 

Baffled, he swung open the door further, and dropped back to allow her to move past him. 

Edelgard’s heeled boots clacked against the fake hardwood as she entered. She paused at the wall over the couch in the family room, studying it pointedly. “Is this where they drew the graffiti?”

“Yeah,” Felix got out hoarsely. 

“Edelgard?” Annette asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Is Dima with you?” Ingrid added. “Also do you want coffee? We just made a pot.”

“Coffee would be lovely, thank you,” Edelgard said. “And I left him and Hubert at my apartment. I’m sure they’re still shouting at each other.”

In unison, Aegis shuddered. 

“I take it Hubert didn’t want Dima to tell us his conspiracy theories,” Felix muttered. It wasn’t really a question. 

“Correct,” said Edelgard anyway. 

“Are you really in the Adrestian Mob?” Sylvain asked quietly. 

Edelgard nodded gravely. “I am. And that’s what I wanted to talk to you all about.”

A moment of uneasy silence passed over Aegis’ normally boisterous house. 

“Creamer?” Ingrid asked weakly from over by the kitchen counter. 

“Please,” said Edelgard.

Felix went and found her a folding chair from the basement, and that was how the five of them came to be gathered tightly around Aegis’ hand-me-down kitchen table. 

“Operate under the assumption that everything Dimitri told you is true,” said Edelgard. “That our uncle is planning something drastic for Ailell, and that there is a far larger conspiracy at work here. Are you prepared to help us—or at the very least, not out us?”

“Yeah, I don’t wanna die,” Felix said, “and these fucks aren’t allowed to go out without me, so.” He shrugged. 

“Hey!” said Annette. 

“Not you, Annie,” Ingrid said. “He means Sylvain and me.”

“She’s not allowed to die without me, either!”

“What do you mean, help?” Sylvain interrupted, rubbing furiously at his eyes. 

Edelgard sighed, her icy white bangs flying away from her face as she did. “For starters, Felix, you should be playing in the tribute band.”

“Fuck,” said Felix, “_I know.”_

Edelgard made an apologetic face. “Just making sure. For two, Sylvain, you need to let us know if you hear or see _anything_ of your brother.”

“I’ll be the last to know,” Sylvain said, “not the first.”

“I’ll tell you,” Ingrid said firmly. 

Edelgard nodded, and continued. “Annette, I’m sorry to ask this if you, but would you _please _keep an eye on Hubert? I know you’re in the same major and I’m just…” She paused, something unreadable passing over her face, and then pushed on. “...afraid he’ll do something stupid.”

Annette’s smile was more understanding than Edelgard felt she had any right to expect. “You know,” Annette said, “I was just thinking I could use a carpool.”

Edelgard’s face broke in relief. “For three, I think the welcome party at the Silver Maiden Casino will also be fraught.”

“That’s the Thursday night before the fest, right?” Felix asked. 

Edelgard nodded. “Just more PR, if you believe in such things.”

Sylvain snorted. “Why bother making a bunch of Rock bands dress up? We’re hardly legitimate.”

“Proof to the sponsors we can behave, near as I can tell. Like making college athletes dress up before games.” Edelgard took a long sip of coffee. “Besides, Arundel owns the place. There’s bound to be something nasty going on just behind the flashing lights.”

Ingrid’s face was grim. “And you want us to figure out what it is?”

Edelgard took a moment to study each member of Aegis in turn. She noted Sylvain’s unusually surly expression, the dark bags under Felix’s eyes, Ingrid’s unusual pallor, and Annette’s anxious movements.

“I want you all to make sure Mitya doesn’t get himself killed trying.”

For a moment, Aegis fell silent, and all eyes turned to Felix. 

“Yeah,” he said after a moment. “I think we can probably manage that.”

“Thank you.” Edelgard’s smile was grim, but the relief hadn’t left her eyes. “If we can’t have Seiros Security itself there, having you and the Eisner Twins on guard is probably the next best thing.”

His eyebrows rose over the rim of his chipped, offensive coffee mug. “Do you need Seiros there?”

“I think it would be an excellent idea,” Edelgard said. “But my uncle has told me I worry too much; there’s no need for additional security.”

“Fuck that,” said Felix. “I can get you some men on the ground. We _do _have an undercover corps.”

Edelgard pauses over the rim of her mug. “I’m not sure I can afford that.”

“In a financial sense, or a cover sense?”

“Both, I suppose.” Edelgard sighed. “There’s been a whole _thing _with the family finances ever since my father died. I’m sure it’s my uncle’s doing.”

Felix made a face. “I see who I can scrounge up on favors.”

Annette glanced to him. “Do people owe you?”

Felix sighed. This was going to cost him a lot more than money. “Other way around.”

-)

“_There_ it is. Your hands are too small for your guitar,” Catherine announced at Ailell practice that week. 

“Uh, what?” said Felix. He was standing onstage with the rest of the tribute band, trying—and as ever, failing—to nail Glenn’s bullshit _Together We Ride _solo. 

“Your hands?” Catherine said again, flexing hers at eye level. “They’re too small for your guitar. That’s why you’re having problems.”

At Felix’s continued confusion, she clambered up on stage, hosting herself over front lip with obvious familiarity. “Here,” she added, “let me see.”

Brow furrowed, Felix pulled the guitar strap over his head and passed his most prized possession over to his childhood hero. 

Catherine took a moment to familiarize herself with the borrowed axe, running through a handful of chord progressions and scales. 

Then she went into the chorus from _Fhirdiad on my Mind. _

Felix had heard it a million times, of course. It was one of Thunderband’s most famous songs, one Catherine could likely play in her sleep. She hummed her way through the end of the chorus, and then dropped into the solo itself. 

At first, it was immaculate, her fingers flying across arpeggios and pentatonic scales with ease. Then Felix began to hear it. A missed note here, a missed note there, a chord that couldn’t quite strike right. 

He studied Catherine’s hands, and noted that she was right—her hands, too, were too small to comfortably stretch across the borrowed fretboard.

She came abruptly to a halt, palm-muting the strings. “See? Too wide a fretboard for the likes of us. Didn’t you playtest this before you bought it?”

Felix could only stare at her. 

“That was Glenn’s guitar,” Dimitri said quietly, from his rightful place behind a drumkit.

Catherine’s mouth dropped in a surprised little oh, and then she seemed to gather herself. “Well, you might want to look into getting another one at some point.” She divested herself of the guitar, and held it back out to Felix. “It’d help you play the solo, for sure.”

Felix’s mind was cut loose from its moorings and set adrift. Could… it really be that simple? Was Glenn really not some virtuoso freak of nature? He’d just… had bigger hands?

Felix nearly missed his cue to restart, he was so lost in thought.

-)

He carried his confusion with him all the way through solo practice that week to Ailell practice the following Sunday at the Golden Deer. It was as though Catherine had replaced his familiar, hand-me-down guitar with a stranger's.

“Here,” said Sylvain when Felix rejoined Aegis at their usual table after working with Ferdinand. “You look like you could use this.”

He pushed a gently sweating pint glass into Felix’s hand, and Felix couldn’t even find it in him to be annoyed.

“Thanks,” Felix mumbled, taking a sip. 

It was an IPA, and for once, Sylvain didn’t seem like such an asshole. 

“You guys sounded really good up there,” Annette said. “It’s really coming together.”

“It better be,” Felix muttered. “Ailell is in like two months.”

Ingrid sighed. “Annette and I just need to get through finals first.”

“You’ll be fine,” Sylvain said cheerfully. “I have the utmost faith in you.”

Felix did not miss how Sylvain dragged his still-healing fingertips across the rough vinyl of his barstool. 

“I don’t,” Annette said, buying her face in her hands. “I’m so going to fail.”

“You’re not going to fail,” Felix said. “You’ll study well, and it’ll be fine.”

Annette opened her mouth—to argue, maybe—but the door banged open with such force, all of the Golden Deer turned towards it. 

Dimitri and Edelgard were soaked from the knees up from the pouring rain, and she was hurriedly slamming the door behind them while Dimitri frantically looked for someone. 

“Um, hello?” called Hilda from the bar. “You guys know you’re late, right?”

“Where’s Claude?” Dimitri barked. 

Hilda recoiled, but a voice across the room called, “Don’t bully my bartender, Blaiddyd.”

Claude von Riegan stood in the door of his office, arms folded firmly against his chest. He did not look amused. 

“Claude,” Edelgard said frantically, “you have to hide us.”

“Hide you?” Claude’s brow furrowed. “From what?”

“What do you think?” Dimitri hissed.

For a moment, the bar could only stare in frozen shock at both Dimitri and Edelgard. 

“Did you bring the mob here?” Claude asked, his voice ringing like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

“Look, this wouldn’t be my first choice,” Dimitri said, “but it was the closest safe place I could think of.”

“He was right behind us,” Edelgard said. “Please, Claude, you _know _us.”

“The walk-in.”

Felix hasn’t realized he'd spoken until all eyes in the room were focused on him. _Too late to stop now. _“Hide them in the walk-in,” Felix added. “You have one, right?”

Claude’s brow came down even further, and then something seemed to click. “Hilda, make coffee, would you? I’ll get these two settled in.”

“Trade you coats,” Raphael said from somewhere near the door, holding his heavy overcoat out to Dimitri. “You’ll freeze like that.”

Dimitri fiddled with his coat pockets for a moment, retrieving his cell phone and a pack of cigarettes, before tossing his woolen overcoat toward the huge man. Raphael slung it over the back of his chair as though it had been there all along, and Dimitri wormed his way into Raphael’s beat-up letter jacket instead.

“You too, Edie,” Dorothea called, already working to pull her stylish, puffy coat free from her own seat back. 

“No need,” Edelgard said, heading towards the bar. “I’m hiding here.”

“You can’t hide back here!” Hilda said. “There’s not roo—_Edelgard, it’s disgusting down there!”_

Edelgard’s elegantly manicured hand appeared just over the bar, gripping her unlocked smartphone. “Would you text Hubert, please?”

Hilda sighed and very gingerly took the phone from her. “What should I say?”

“Just tell him where we are and that we need help because of you-know-who.”

A very paranoid part of Felix‘s mind screeched to a halt. _You-know-who? _That could mean any number of Arundel’s men, certainly, but Felix couldn’t shake the feeling it was something far worse. 

“Get down,” he ordered Sylvain, shoving down on the drummer's shoulder. 

“What?” said Sylvain, maneuvering himself under their booth table anyway. “Why?”

“If I’m wrong,” Felix said, “you dropped your fork, yeah?”

Sylvain made a confused noise as he slipped entirely out of sight. 

“Felix,” Ingrid began, “what are you…?”

“And take your drink, dumbass,” Felix snarled, pushing Sylvain’s half-drunk cocktail under the table at him. 

“It’s disgusting down here,” Sylvain said. “I hope you—”

A crash came from the front door, and a hush fell across the bar for the second time in so many minutes.

A man with familiar, fiery red hair and a nasty scar across his face stood in the doorway, illuminated by an errant thread of lightning, the nasty feeling in Felix’s stomach grew.

Miklan surveyed the bar for a moment, and then his furious stare alighted on Felix, Ingrid, and Annette’s table. He grinned, and headed over to the bar. 

Hilda stared at him like a deer caught in the headlights, still holding Edelgard’s phone. 

“You allowed to text on the job?” Miklan asked, calm as you please. 

“When it isn’t busy.” Without breaking eye contact, Hilda slid Edelgard’s phone into her bra for safekeeping. “What can I do for you?”

“Whiskey on the rocks,” Miklan said, “whatever your top shelf is.”

Hilda cocked an eyebrow but went to pull a bottle of absurdly expensive whiskey from the Golden Deer’s little-used top shelf. While he waited, Miklan took a moment to cast another sweeping look across the bar.

Felix felt Sylvain start bouncing his leg beneath the table, knocking repeatedly into his own, and resisted urge to kick him.

“I’m supposed to be meeting some friends here,” Miklan said to Hilda when she returned with a less-than-generous portion of whatever bougie bottle Claude kept on hand. “You wouldn’t happen to have seen a white-haired girl and a tall blond guy, would you?”

Hilda slid him his glass. “Doesn't ring a bell. Will you be opening a tab?”

“Nah.” Miklan flipped a dollar bill on the bar. “Keep the change.”

At Hilda’s stunned facial expression, Felix could only assume it was at least a fifty.

Miklan basked in the glares and stares he garnered as he crossed the barroom floor, dismissing Raphael when he tried to get his attention, and Leonie when she demanded it. He came to a stop just before Aegis’ table, and Felix had to press both his elbows against the sticky bar top to keep it from rocking.

“Hey there, little Frad,” Miklan said, “little Galatea. Long time, no see.”

“Do I need to remind you of your probation,” Felix muttered, “or are you going to make this easy on me?”

“I’m not doing anything illegal by going to a bar.” Miklan snorted, and took a long draw of whiskey. “Where’s my baby brother?”

“You just missed him,” Ingrid said icily.

“Too bad.” Miklan took a long, slow sip of whiskey. “I would have loved to bother him.”

“We know,” Annette said, coolly.

Miklan stared at her for so long a moment, fury threatened to burst through Felix’s chest like a xenomorph. His fingers curled uselessly at his side, and he debated the merits of clocking the son of a bitch.

“See you haven’t changed,” Miklan muttered. “Scoot over, Frad.”

Felix felt himself physically pushed further into the booth, and his legs collided with Sylvain, huddled beneath their table. 

“We didn’t invite you to sit down,” Ingrid snapped.

“Oh, I know,” Miklan said, fake warmth oozing from his voice. “It’s why I didn’t ask.”

“Get up,” Annette ordered at once.

“Oo, so cold!” Miklan’s laugh was nearly as horrible as Felix remembered Valentín’s being. “I just wanna chat with you—that so bad?”

“Yes,” said Felix, Ingrid, and Annette at once.

“Then I’ll make it quick.” Miklan threw back the rest of his drink. “Piss off. Stop poking your noses where they don’t belong, and tell Mitya and his little girlfriend to do the same.”

Ingrid’s eyes narrowed. “Or you’ll _what?”_

“What I do best, little Galatea.” Miklan crunched the ice between his teeth. “How’s your brother, by the way? The one with the baby. Erik, right?”

Ingrid’s jaw tightened, and she fell silent. 

“And you, Fe,” Miklan said. “Be a shame if something happened to Glenny’s guitar, wouldn’t it?”

All the color drained from Felix’s face, and he had to force himself not to run to check if it remained carefully nestled in its case backstage.

“And you, Annie.” Miklan turned to Annette then, and she stared him down with the sort of fury the Old Masters depicted in Valkyries and avenging angels. “I hear your uncle’s gotten himself in a bit of financial trouble, back home. I’d hate for your poor, relapsing mother to hear about it—wouldn’t you?”

Annette swallowed audibly, and then whispered, “How _dare _you.”

Miklan grinned again, all traces of geniality gone as he leaned over the table. “I could _break_ you.” He glanced from Annette, to Ingrid, to Felix, and back again. “Sylvie, too. And don’t you fuckin’ forget it.”

The front door banged open once more—only this time, the lightning illuminated a pair of green, catlike eyes.

Hubert seemed to step directly out of the night itself, in his skinny black jeans and heavy black leather coat. Rain rolled off his dark hair and wicked off his jacket, and for a moment, the only sound in the room came from his heavy boots as he crossed the room towards the bar.

He leaned against the bar to order from Hilda, and she nodded hurriedly, fiddling with various glassware behind the bar. Her hands were shaking.

Hubert then cast a wary eye to the room, nodding to Caspar, to Raphael, to Lorenz, and then his calculating stare came to rest on Aegis—or more specifically, on the wrong head of red hair sitting at their table.

Drink in hand, Hubert crossed the floor in his smooth, long-legged stride. “Sorry I’m late,” he said as he approached Aegis’ table, “I had a few things to take care of.”

“Don’t, uh, worry about it,” Ingrid said.

Felix winced internally; Ingrid was a godawful liar. He tried to catch her attention across their table, but she wasn’t looking his way. No doubt, she was trying to shield Sylvain as much as she could from his brother, since she was on the inside of the booth, too.

Annette sounded just like her chipper self: “Thanks for meeting us here, Hubert.”

Aymr’s keyboardist nodded gravely, and then his gaze fell on Miklan.

“I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.” Hubert looked surprised, his eyebrows furrowing over his long nose. “Will you be recording the music video with us?”

“Do I look like a backup dancer, sweetheart?” Miklan barked.

“Not particularly,” Hubert said, “but I didn’t want to assume. You know the saying, I’m sure.”

A vein pulsed in Miklan’s temple, and it occurred to Felix that Hubert was _deliberately _provoking him. He cast a desperate eye out, looking for some way to warn Hubert before it was too late. He cursed the fact that he didn’t have Hubert’s number, because the man wasn’t looking at him.

“Are you related to Sylvain, by any chance?” Hubert continued, calm-as-you-please and taking a sip of his drink. “You look just…” Hubert coughed. “Well, _mostly_ just like him.”

“How do you think I know these fucks?” Miklan said. “He’s my baby brother.”

“Oh, I see.” Understanding swept across Hubert’s face. “You must be Mikhail.”

“It’s _Miklan_.” The man drew himself to his full height, and it also occurred to Felix that Hubert could stare him down quite comfortably. “Miklan Anschutz Gautier.”

Hubert grinned, and there was something feral in it. “Hubert Von Vestra. A pleasure.”

For the first time in the entire time Felix had known him, he watched Miklan falter. 

“What’s the von Vestra kid doing all the way down here? Shouldn’t you be dressing up corpses, or something?”

“Should is such a dirty word.” Hubert tapped at Miklan’s chest with the hand holding his drink. “By that logic, shouldn’t _you _be breaking up marriages, or something?”

This time it was Ingrid who wildly tried to get Hubert’s attention, shooting him a wide-eyed warning look that he promptly ignored.

“Listen here, you little _shit.”_

Miklan took all of two steps towards Hubert before Hilda’s voice rang out: “No fighting in my fucking bar.”

Across the room, Raphael cracked his knuckles audibly.

Hubert grinned at Miklan like the cat that got the cream, and Miklan turned a violent shade of purple as he struggled to rein in his legendary temper. Annette could only stare in awe at Hubert’s handiwork, and his composure

Miklan loomed over Hubert now—or tried to, anyway. The effect was sort of ruined by the fact that Hubert was roughly the same height. “This is not over.”

“Threats already?” Hubert’s voice was razor sharp. “We’ve only just met.”

Miklan opened his mouth to say something, then seemed to think better of it, and snatched Hubert’s drink out of his hand—“Cheers, ya rat bastard.” He threw back his head, and most of the whiskey with it.

“Thanks.” Miklan handed Hubert his glass back. “Hit the spot.”

Felix was pissed off _for _Hubert, but the man merely said, “I wasn’t finished with that, you know.”

Miklan leered at him. “We’re at a _bar. _Get another one.”

Hubert paused, as though considering it. “So how’d you end up in such a hole-in-the-wall, anyway? Curiosity?”

Miklan shrugged. “Found myself in the neighborhood.”

“I think you and I both know this isn’t your neighborhood, Gautier.”

“What’s it to you? Ain’t yours, either.”

Felix felt the sense he was missing something.

“Hilda?” Hubert called out. “What time is it, do you know?”

Hilda was forced to withdraw Edelgard’s phone from her bra, or else give up the fact that she had two on her person. “Seven-oh-seven, why?”

Hubert glanced back to Miklan. “Five,” he said.

“The fuck?” said Miklan.

“Four,” Hubert continued.

Miklan laughed, offhandedly. “Is that supposed to scare me?” 

“Three.”

“Goth boy, do you have _any idea _what you’re dealing with?”

“Two.”

Miklan lunged for him; Hubert pivoted around him in a motion that could only be described as practiced.

“One,” he said.

And Miklan fell to his knees.

For a long, drawn out moment, silence fell across the Golden Deer once again, and then chaos erupted.

Felix was on his feet. “What the fuck did you just do to him?”

“_I,” _Hubert said, “didn’t do anything. But I believe he’s going into anaphylactic shock.”

Sylvain crawled out from beneath Aegis’ table like some kind of misshapen spider. “What just happened?”

“Miklan just… drank Hubert’s drink and collapsed!” Annette said. “What do you _mean _you didn’t do anything, Hubert?”

A curious look fell over Sylvain’s face. “What did you order?”

“Red Stag,” Hubert offered innocently.

Abruptly, Sylvain began to laugh. “How the _fuck _did you know Miklan is allergic to that fake cherry shit?”

“Haven’t you heard?” Hubert’s smile was tight. “It’s my _job_ to know everything. Now, I _highly _recommend someone call the squad before a man dies on Claude’s barroom floor.”

“No dying on my barroom floor!” Claude called from across the way.

“That reminds me.” Hubert straightened up and strode briskly over to the illustrious owner of the Golden Deer.

He stunned not only Claude, but the entire bar, when he yanked the owner forward by the lapels, knocking him off balance and snaring him in a hateful glare. 

“_Where is Edelgard?” _Hubert hissed, each word crisp and clipped and oozing menace.

“Over here!” came a muffled voice.

Hilda had not been wrong in how disgusting it was under the bar. When Edelgard reappeared over the bartop, gunk was matted in her normally pristine, white hair, and it was a toss-up as to whether her clothes would ever recover. 

“I’m right here,” Edelgard said, much more clearly. 

No one would ever be quite sure how he managed it, but Hubert was beside her in an instant, drawing her as tightly to his chest as he possibly could, filth be damned, stares be damned.

(Hilda would never admit that she heard him murmur, “Don’t you _dare _scare me like that again.” either.)

“Squad’s on its way,” Caspar announced to no one in particular.

“Good, I guess,” Sylvain told him.

“Do we roll him over?” Annette asked, poking at Miklan with her foot. 

“He’s not drunk,” Felix said. 

“Couldn’t hurt,” said Caspar, coming over to Aegis’ table and rolling up his sleeves.

“Um, guys?” Leonie called. “Isn’t Dimitri still in the fridge?”

Claude gave a little start, straightened his lapels, and went to go retrieve Atrocity’s frontman.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welcome back! ik it's been a minute, but I'm now coming at y'all from a HOUSE (!!) that i OWN (!!!!). I'd hoped to get this out in time for the 1 year anniversary of this fic, but alas
> 
> also, we've been on this journey together for a FULL YEAR (!!!). y'all are great, and I appreciate every last one of you :)
> 
> today's chapter brought to you by "Villain" by Wild Fire
> 
> enjoying the nonsense? come hang out with me on [ twitter ](https://twitter.com/MadsHatter1)


	40. The One Where Felix Realizes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Today's chapter brought to you by Joe Biden and "Life Starts Now" by Three Days Grace

Word travelled quickly that the Golden Deer was no longer safe. It wasn’t long before an expensive-looking security system appeared at the bar, Dedue began moonlighting as a bouncer once again, and Miklan’s description was on everyone’s lips. 

Felix and Sylvain were determined not to let it ruin Annette and Ingrid's graduation. 

And so they sat in the bleachers of the Garreg Mach Arena that breezy May morning with both Mercedes and Ingrid’s dad, and smiled through their unease. (Well, Sylvain did, anyway; Felix just tried to scowl a bit less).

“It is with great joy that we gather here this morning,” said President Rhea warmly from the stage Aegis had performed on last October for Carnage. “These bright young men and women gathered before worked tirelessly for the past several years, and are to be rewarded for both their hard work and the knowledge they have gained.”

“Pretty way of saying they spent a lot of money and stressed a lot to get a piece of paper and some extra letters to their name,” Sylvain muttered. 

Felix was inclined to agree with him as President Rhea’s cool voice began reading out names and colleges. 

The College of Pharmacy was among the first to be announced, and Sylvain ran color commentary about Ingrid’s classmates until her dad pleaded with him to stop. Sylvain instead texted it to Felix and Mercedes, who tried not to laugh too loudly. 

Ingrid’s smile was blinding as she shook hands with President Rhea and received her diploma, and Sylvain had to resist the urge to wolf whistle. 

The College of Education was about midway through the graduate degrees, and Mercedes had to fiddle with her phone for a bit until her video call finally went through. 

“Hi, Mama Dominic!”

“Good morning, Mercie dear.” Mama Dominic’s smile radiated warmth, even from where Felix and Sylvain sat. “Is it time?”

“Almost,” Mercedes said to her. “And have you met Felix and Sylvain?”

She turned the camera toward them, and Sylvain gave a cheerful wave and a practiced grin, while Felix gave a much smaller one of both and resisted the urge to kick Sylvain in the shins. 

“It’s nice to see you boys,” Mama Dominic said. “I hope to meet in person one day.”

Sylvain beamed. “We’d like that, too.”

Felix knew Annette’s mom was far too sick to travel, and very likely wouldn’t ever end up meeting Aegis if they never got out there. He tried not to let that seep into his words. 

“After Ailell we can maybe work something out,” Felix said. 

Mama Dominic beamed, and then Mercedes was flipping her phone back around. “Oh! It’s almost time!”

Annette was a bundle of light and energy as her name was called. She practically bounced up the aisle to shake President Rhea’s hand and receive her diploma. Even from the stands, it was easy to tell she was beaming. 

Felix’s chest swelled in pride, but unlike with Ingrid, mere pride was quickly eclipsed by a deeply uncomfortable sensation he couldn’t name and made him feel a bit like he was going to burst out of his skin if he didn’t do _something_.

He just had no idea what.

-)

Aegis’ rental house had never smelled as good as when they came home from the graduation ceremony later that afternoon.

“Ey, yo!” called Ingrid's brother Brennan from his spot in the kitchen amidst steaming pots and more crock pots than anyone besides Ingrid had ever seen. He had insisted that, if he couldn't go to the ceremony (because of a lack of tickets), he would at _least _make sure the food at little Ingy’s grad party was killer.

Sylvain dramatically sniffed the air. “Brennan, I think I might love you.”

Brennan laughed, a sound not dissimilar to Ingrid’s. “It’s just buffalo chicken dip and barbecue meatballs. Calm down, Sylvie.”

“I just miss your food, okay? We live on crock pot chicken that all tastes the same.”

Ingrid’s hands flew to her hips. “You’re welcome to cook dinner any time!”

Felix laughed so loudly, he startled both Brennan and Ingrid’s father, who had perhaps never heard adult Felix laugh.

As the afternoon wore on, Aegis’ home began to fill with people. First came Mercedes and Dedue, bringing with them desserts and cheer. Brennan and Mercedes chatted very animatedly in the kitchen about this cooking technique and that recipe as he put the finishing touches on the queso dip. and Dedue smiled to see his girlfriend so vibrant.

Then came Hubert and Edelgard with a case full of beer. Sylvain all but forced a drink into Hubert’s hands, and Ingrid’s dad urged the both of them to eat so insistently that Edelgard grabbed two plates of buffalo dip just to excuse herself from the onslaught.

Claude and Hilda also stopped by for food and congratulations, and then came the rest of Aymr and bits of the Watchers. Caspar, very loudly and enthusiastically, complimented Brennan’s work, while Dorothea somehow managed to elegantly eat buffalo dip (a feat not unnoticed by her bandmates). Several more of Ingrid’s brothers and their families came by, and Annette and Mercedes immediately flocked to the baby to make faces and tickle him.

Some of Ingrid’s pharmacy friends stopped by, as did Annette’s (and Hubert’s) music friends, and before long, Aegis’ house was full of more people than the last house party Sylvain had ever thrown (which had resulted in no less than three broken lamps, four broken bones, two cop calls, and a promise to never, ever throw a house party again).

It made Felix distinctly anxious.

It helped that Annette was in her element around so many people, happily chatting with this person and that person about the food, their post-grad plans, and anything else that caught her fancy. That strange, unknowable sensation in Felix’s chest bloomed all afternoon, until it threatened to choke him and he was forced to put down Brennan’s really quite excellent queso.

So instead, he nursed a beer outside by the bonfire that Sylvain and Ingrid’s brother Erik had started at some point as it began to grow dark. One would think the party would begin dying down by dark, but alas, it seemed like it was just kicking off. Caspar and Hubert had made another beer run at some point, and suddenly Annette and Ingrid’s grad party was also an Ailell anxiety party, too.

“I am being nervous about a stage so large,” Petra confessed over her fourth beer. Felix couldn't tell if she were tipsy or not, but she definitely was more animated, and her accent was much thicker.

“Don’t be!” Sylvain said. “You’ll kick ass, just like you always do.”

“But the tribute band,” Petra said, burying her face in her free hand. “I am worrying about the tribute band!”

“You’ve been playing fine,” Felix said.

“Fine is not good!” Petra cried, grabbing at Felix’s arm. “Fine is not honoring your brother!”

Felix was, mercifully, saved from answering by Edelgard. “I think Glenn will be plenty honored, Petra.”

Felix stuck his foot in his mouth anyway. “The only one who needs to worry about not honoring Glenn is Dimitri.”

Petra’s eyes went wide. “But Dimitri would sooner be dying than dishonoring your brother!”

“Exactly.”

It wasn’t Felix who said it, but Edelgard, and the group gathered around the bonfire didn’t know what to say to that.

That was the moment that Annette swung herself half out of the French doors and onto the porch. “Hey, Felix? I promised my Mom I would call her and, um, I’d really like for you to be there, too.”

“Awww,” said Sylvain, drawing the word out and undoubtedly preparing to make fun of whatever Felix’s answer was.

“Sure, Annette.” Felix grabbed his beer and bopped Sylvain in the head before heading back inside with her.

The family room was just as lively as the bonfire, though it largely consisted of Ingrid’s family telling increasing embarrassing stories about her. Felix had the errant thought that Sylvain really ought to be in here for these, but Annette’s ratcheting anxiety quickly blotted that out.

“It’s so loud everywhere,” she said.

“We can call from my room,” Felix told her, and Annette nodded gratefully.

He hadn’t been here much in the last few months, and it was slowly emptying of things that made it ‘Felix.’ The band posters had been taken down and brought back to Fraldarius manor, and his desk was missing its laptop and knickknacks. His bedspread had once been the huge, fluffy, red one from his bed at home, but what remained was just a plain, black one that had once been Dimitri’s.

In many ways, it felt more like a hotel room than a space where Felix had spent more than half of his college life.

Annette was fiddling with the settings on her phone as she sat down on the edge of his bed. “Okay, I hope she picks up…”

As it began to ring, Felix folded his arms across his chest, and tried not to feel anxious, or awkward, or that feeling he had yet to name that had filled his chest all day. Annette sent a questioning look his way, and patted the bed beside her a few times. 

Felix sheepishly realized she wanted him _with her on the call, _and took up the empty spot beside her just before her mom picked up.

Mama Dominic looked a lot like she had this morning--a Garreg Mach-print headscarf, and a very tired expression--and she lit up just the same. “Oh, Annie, congratulations! Your uncle and I are so proud of you.”

“Very proud of you, Annette!” came a voice from behind Annette’s mom but off camera.

Annette giggled, and Felix smiled, just a little. “Thanks, Uncle Nick!” Annette said.

“He’s trying to feed the dogs at the moment,” Mama Dominic explained.

“Ooo, please give them pets for me!” Annette said.

Her mom pretended to look offended. “Annette! What kind of mother do you take me for? We have _been _petting the dogs for you!”

At that, Felix actually did give a little snort. It unfortunately brought attention to himself. “Did you graduate today as well, Felix?”

“No, I graduated two years ago. Ingrid is the one who graduated today. Pharmacy.”

“Oh, I see. And how are you finding… oh, _what _does Mercedes call it…” She seemed to remember a moment later. “...post-grad life?”

Felix shrugged. “Same amount of work, but at least I get paid now.”

Mama Dominic laughed, and Felix felt like he’d passed some kind of test. “Well, Annette, I won’t bother you with questions about what your plans are and whether you plan to come home—not today, anyway.” She winked, and Annette giggled. “Enjoy your day and feel proud of your accomplishments. We certainly are, over here.”

Annette’s smile grew softer. “Thanks, Mama.”

“I love you, kiddo. Let’s talk more soon, okay?”

“Love you too, and yeah!”

Mama Dominic gave a merry wave, and Felix wondered how much of this was a performance. Her hand seemed to shake when she dropped it again. “Felix, it’s lovely to see you. I really do hope we can meet in person, one day.”

Felix’s stomach churned. “Looking forward to it.”

Annette and her mother chatted for another few minutes, and it occurred to Felix what he’d been feeling.

_I love you, _her mother had said.

It wasn’t something that had been tossed around so casually in the Fraldarius household, growing up. Felix vaguely remembered his mom saying it sometimes, but mostly, his father had stiff-upper-lipped his way through raising his boys. Felix knew he’d _been _loved, of course. He’d had clothes and food and a private education and what have you, and his older brother had played with him in the yard and actually let him be Mario, sometimes.

But the _words_. The words were so foreign.

“Bye, Mama!” Annette’s voice brought him sharply back. “Tell Uncle Nick that I’ll call him soon, too!”

“I will!”

“Bye, Ms. Dominic,” Felix said. 

“Goodbye, you two.” Her enormous grin was the last part of her they saw before the line clicked dead.

Annette’s shoulders sagged with relief. “She seems like she’s doing okay?”

She glanced to Felix with a question in her eyes.

“I think she’s in pain,” Felix said. “Short call, y’know?”

Annette barely seemed to register what he’d said, because she was staring at him, now, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. It was so adorable Felix didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Annette asked, her voice uncharacteristically quiet.

_Like what? _Felix wanted to ask, but suddenly his words were stuck in his throat and his heart was full to bursting and there was only one thing that made any damn sense anymore.

He dipped his head and pressed his lips against Annette’s. 

She liked when it was soft and sweet, and so he tried to do that, these days, instead of the driving urge he always felt. He tried to fill in the gaps between them with the softness she liked and the warmth he needed, tugging her closer to him until she made those soft little noises that went straight to his heart (and a few other places, too).

Neither Felix nor Annette was quite sure when or how she ended up in his lap, but neither complained about it, either. She straddled his thighs and held onto him fiercely as their kisses grew deeper, hotter, needier. Felix’s fingers danced up the newly-exposed expanse of her creamy thighs as her dress hiked higher and higher, and her fingers had undone enough of his button down that she was touching the bare skin of chest. Her fingers left trails of lightning in their wake, and unbeknownst to Felix, his did the same.

He traced as high up as he dared, pressing lines of kisses across her face, up her neck, down to her collarbone, behind her ear. He wanted to her to feel good, to sing for him, to feel like she mattered, to feel…

_To feel like I love you._

“Felix,” Annette said, her voice breathless and driving straight into him. “We, um, should probably get back to the party.”

He blinked at her a few times, uncomprehending.

“The party?” Annette repeated. “All our friends are out there and probably wondering what’s, uh, taking so long.”

Felix had never cared less about what his friends thought.

Annette giggled somewhat nervously, and he realized, he’d said it out loud. “I know _you _don’t, but I, um…”

No matter what parts of him were screaming, Annette came first. Always. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t wanna,” Felix managed to get out.

Annette’s shoulders sagged in relief, and Felix couldn’t resist pressing one last kiss to the freckled expanse that her sundress exposed. She giggled, and then said, very softly, “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to _thank_ me.” Felix helped her climb back off of him, tugging her skirt down for her while she searched for her long-ago discarded cardigan. “I’m not a monster.”

“I know you don’t want to stop,” Annette said. “And, I mean, I don’t either, exactly. I just, um, don’t think this is the time and I want…”

Felix waited patiently for her to finish her thought, buttoning his dress shirt back up just to give his hands something else to do.

Annette twisted her cardigan in her hands, and suddenly his very talkative singer was at a complete loss for words.

“You want?” Felix prompted, getting back to his feet before his worse judgement got the better of him and he yanked her back down onto his bed.

Annette turned a truly impressive shade of crimson and suddenly she couldn’t look at him. “I want our first time to be more special than hurriedly doing it in your room at a party!”

It was like a bucket of cold water had been splashed on him. Of _course, _that’s how it seemed to her. She wasn’t living in his chest, with this realization he’d been having all day. He wasn’t sure when exactly he’d intended to tell her about it, but he doubly wasn’t going to, now. She’d just think he was saying it to make her feel bad about stopping—or worse, that he was using it to guilt her into continuing.

Felix’s stomach churned at the thought.

“I, um.” Now it was his turn to turn red. “I do, too. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”

“Okay.” Annette drew him into a far more chaste hug than she had a few moments ago. “Okay, I’m glad you agree. And, um, if I don’t have to thank you, you don’t have to be sorry.”

Felix smiled at her, the crooked thing that was so underused these days. “I just like you.”

There. That seemed like an okay compromise.

Annette beamed. “I like you, too!”

Felix suddenly understood all of Sylvain’s jokes about cold showers and beers, because his whole body felt like a towel that had been twisted to snap at someone, and then was left to fall loosely to the floor.

“Um, Fe? You have lipstick on, um…” Annette reached up, as if to wipe her mark off his lips, but paused halfway there, unsure.

“I was going to stop in the bathroom, anyway,” Felix said. If he couldn’t cold shower, splashing his face with cold water was probably the next best thing.

“Oh, that’s probably a good idea.” Annette paused, something else occurring to her. “Do I look okay?”

Her dress was now falling neatly in place, her cardigan sitting smartly across her shoulders. She’d smoothed her hair back and re-done the little braids leading to her bun, too, so the only thing that would lead anyone to think something was amiss was her lack of lipstick.

“Of course you do,” Felix said. “Better than okay, even.”

She jokingly shoved at him. “You _villain_, you know what I meant.”

Felix didn’t budge. “You look both very pretty and very put together, Annette. You’d never know how much fun we were just having.”

“Oooo, _Felix!”_

“You _were _having fun,” Felix asked, “right?”

The exasperation left her. “Yes, I was. You just… ugh, you don’t need to say it like that! I’m not dating _Sylvain.”_

“Yeah, please don't.” He wanted to say _I’d miss you, _but he couldn't make the words form. “I don’t want to have to kick his ass.”

Annette smiled. “Perish the thought.”

He kissed her one last time—far more gently and quietly than either of them would have preferred, left to their own devices—and they left his room together.


	41. The One with the (Un)Welcome Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brought to you by "Move your Body" by Blessed by a Broken Heart and "All Eyes on You" by Smash Into Pieces

For all of June, Ailell loomed.

It loomed like finals week, like the Galateas’ Great Dane as Brennan made dinner, like the results of Edelgard’s unending blood tests, like Hubert when he entered a room.

It loomed like there was entirely too much riding on it (which there was), and like there were a hundred ways for it to go wrong (which there were).

Aegis, not known for being the calmest band to begin with, could have used a collective Xanax for the entire month, and instead made do with practicing until their fingers bled and they low-key began to hate their own setlist.

As mid-July drew nearer, it would have to do.

-)

“Holy shit, this is it,” Sylvain said as they gathered in the lobby of the hotel. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit.”

“Deep breaths,” Ingrid told him as she fixed his tie.

“Holy shit!” said Annette in a very high, very tiny voice.

Felix shut his eyes, and pinched the bridge of his nose. “If I vomit tonight, it’s all you guys’ fault.”

“I’m sorry!” Annette said. “I know you’re anxious, I’m just… I mean… _we play at Ailell in two days!”_

“We’ve done all we can,” Ingrid reminded her bandmates. “All that’s left is to enjoy the party tonight, do the sound check, and then to kill our setlist on Saturday night.”

“Well said,” came a voice from Aegis’ collective left.

Felix had seen his bandmates dressed up before, of course. It didn’t strike him as odd to see Sylvain in his tailored suit or Annette in the red dress she’d worn to her Christmas Choir concert (that Felix still very much appreciated). But to see Hubert in a black, vintage suit was somehow incredibly strange.

It wasn’t as if he’d shown up to Rodrigue’s funeral in ripped jeans and a mesh shirt, but somehow, that was what Felix’s mind had colored in for him. Stranger still was Catherine in a white and red pantsuit across the way, fiddling with her cufflinks and chatting with Ferdinand von Aegir, whose stiff-collared suit made him look a bit like a priest.

“_Do _try not to make a scene of yourselves,” Hubert continued smoothly. “We’re still not certain what exactly Edelgard’s dear uncle has in mind for the evening.”

“We’re not the scene you need to concern yourself with,” Annette said coolly.

Felix jerked a thumb over to Atrocity. 

Byleth was assisting her brother with his tie, but Dimitri was pacing a six-foot section of the lobby with the look of a caged beast. His suit jacket was stretching at his shoulders, as though it no longer fit him, and his royal blue button down was tight across his chest.

Ingrid’s brow furrowed. “Has he gotten _bigger?”_

“Dimitri?” Hubert asked. At Ingrid’s nod, he added, “I believe that was his aim, yes.”

“Jesus,” muttered Felix. “Does he ever sleep?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Hubert said. “In any event, Aegis, I will be available all evening, should the need arise.”

It sent a cold wave across the four of them. Felix had pulled a few strings with Seiros Security, and Byleth had pulled a few more, but in the end, they would be going into the Silver Maiden Casino party alone. Knowing they had Hubert around assuaged a bit of his anxiety, but Felix felt naked without his Seiros gear as he went into the belly of the beast.

He wasn’t sure what to make of that.

When the festival organizer appeared with their shuttle to the casino, Felix felt his anxiety ratchet markedly skyward, and he had to fight the distinct urge to vomit.

-)

The Silver Maiden Casino was the most popular nightclub in Fhirdiad for a reason. Between the Vegas-style lights, plush interior carpet, and pointedly professional pit bosses, it was easy to see where Arundel put his money. If Felix weren’t so repulsed by the man, he would almost be impressed.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Arundel was saying when Aegis first entered the casino floor. “Ailell would not be possible without the hard work of all of you, and so before tomorrow’s final push, I wanted to ensure we celebrated our accomplishments.” 

His smile spread across his face, and Felix was instantly sure it was ingenuine. “Saturday will be a day to remember--but tonight is a night to never forget!” He raised his glass high. “Cheers to all of our partners, staff, and of course, our bands!”

A round of “Cheers!” went around the room, but the notes fell sour upon Aegis’ ears.

_Just get a drink and try to schmooze, _Hubert had advised. _Don’t draw any undue attention and maybe all the worry about tonight will be for naught._

Felix doubted that, but he figured a drink couldn't hurt, anyhow.

“What do you want to drink?” he asked Annette.

“Oh!” She looked surprised at the question. “Um…”

“It’s an open bar,” Sylvain added at her discomfort.

Annette made a face. “I don’t know… something expensive enough to make Arundel regret our tab?”

Sylvain cackled so loudly, several people looked over. “Can do! Why don’t you ladies find us a table?”

Felix fell into step beside his drummer, and there was a brief moment of blessed silence before Sylvain piped up, “Hey, Fe? Proud of you. Look at you, developing manners for your girl.” 

He moved to nudge Felix with his elbow, but the former fencer adroitly stepped around it. “I’ve always had manners, you dick.”

“Clearly!” said Sylvain with another irritating wink.

_Your girl._

Was that was Annette was? The monster that had settled into his chest post-graduation purred at the thought. But was that really all that different from calling her his girlfriend (which had long since become normal)?

Something told him it was, but Felix couldn’t lay a finger on it.

Catherine’s voice jerked him sharply from his thoughts: “You ready for this, kiddo?”

Felix scowled, and wondered if she could read his anxiety. “We’ve played shows before.”

“Sure,” said Catherine, swirling her drink around, “but you guys were Carnage newcomers, so I’d imagine this scale is somewhat new to you.”

“Yeah, it is,” Sylvain confirmed. “But I, for one, am excited about it.”

Catherine laughed, and clapped him solidly on the back. “Spoken like a Gautier!”

Sylvain paused. “Wait, what?”

“I, uh.” Catherine’s smile faltered. “I just meant that sounded like something your dad or your brother would say, is all.”

Felix’s mind was reeling, but it surely paled in comparison to whatever was going on in Sylvain’s head. He took the initiative: “Have you been dealing with either of them?”

  
“I mean, Valentín’s been Thunderbrand’s lawyer since forever…”

“Oh.” Sylvain’s shoulders relaxed. “That makes—”

“...But Miklan is more who I meant; he’s been helping out with Ailell.”

Both Aegis boys froze, and too late, Catherine realized her mistake.

“Is… that news?” she asked.

“Yeah,” said Sylvain hoarsely. “Yeah, it is.”

“Is he here?” Felix asked abruptly.

“He should be.” Catherine glanced around for another head of Gautier-red hair. “Unless Volkhard has him running errands or… ah, there he is.”

Felix and Sylvain followed her line of sight over towards the tables—and there, lounging at a poker table and laughing with some of the guys from Varley County, was Miklan.

Anxiety shot through Felix’s veins and clutched at his throat, but Sylvain froze over completely.

“Sylvain?” Catherine asked, brow furrowed in concern.

Felix snapped in front of his face a few times. “You in there?” 

“Yeah,” Sylvain squeaked out. “Yeah, I’m… caught me off guard. Sorry.”

“Sorry?” Catherine’s brow furrowed until she was nearly unrecognizable.

Felix glanced to her, and found her confusion was genuine. _Not a plot then. Great. _“Sylvain’s got a restraining order against Miklan,” he said lowly.

Catherine’s entire demeanor shifted. Her face snapped into a stony mask, and she set her drink down with nearly enough force to shatter it. “I’ll take care of him.”

She squared her shoulders as she turned to go, but Sylvain reached helplessly towards her suitcoat. “Don’t call attention to me,” he said, his voice very small and distant. “Please?”

Catherine blinked a few times, but seemed to come back to herself as her face smoothed out. “Okay. I want you to feel safe.”

“Don’t worry about that, if Miklan’s already here,” Sylvain said.

Catherine’s smile was high and tight. “Then Shamir and I will keep him occupied.”

And then she was lost in the crowd.

-)

Ingrid immediately knew something was off the moment she saw Felix herding Sylvain back towards their table.

She was instantly on her feet. “What’s going on?” 

“Look over your left shoulder,” Felix said. “Quickly.”

Ingrid did as ordered, and for a moment, couldn’t fathom what had them riled up. They knew Dimitri was here, and other than that, she couldn’t—

“Son of a bitch.” Annette interrupted Ingrid’s train of thought. “Is that _Miklan?”_

Ingrid’s blood turned to ice in her veins as Felix nodded, once. He was twitchy and clenching his jaw so hard, the tendons in his jaw stood out, but Sylvain looked so very lost and so very scared, it twisted her heart in her chest.

But it wasn’t enough to cool her blinding rage.

“Wait here.” Ingrid was already on the move. “I’m going to talk to the Eisners.”

“Don’t call attention to me!” Sylvain said hoarsely.

Felix just pressed her copper mug into her hand. “Take your drink.”

“Ingrid,” Sylvain said, trying to drum up some of his usual bluster, “you’re not seriously going to leave me with Netteflix and no chill, are you?”

It was hard to tell who looked more incensed—Felix, or Annette. 

Ingrid forced a laugh. “I am now!”

Now, Ingrid was a bassist at heart. She was the unheard backbone of her band, quieter than Felix’s wailing guitar and more even-keel than Annette’s emotion-heavy vocals. She understood, very acutely, how to slip through crowd unseen.

She did it every show.

Dimitri and the Eisner Twins had taken to one of the Blackjack tables alongside Dorothea and Ferdinand, and so when Ingrid approached, the only real way to avoid calling attention to herself was to sit down and buy in. She could spare a few bucks for Sylvain, she supposed.

“Didn’t expect to see you gambling, Ingrid,” Dimitri grunted at her.

She was grateful he was sitting on the end of the table. It meant she would be blocked by both his bulk and Ferdinand’s posturing, across the way.

“Did you notice who’s here?” she asked coolly, glancing at the hand she’d been dealt. It wasn’t great.

“In what sense?” Byleth asked quietly.

“Look behind you,” Ingrid said. “Carefully.”

All of Atrocity glanced over their shoulders, and Ingrid could see the exact moment each laid eyes on Miklan. Byleth’s expression turned unsettlingly calm, Beresu’s brow furrowed, and Dimitri’s jaw gritted so tightly the tendons stood out in his neck.

Just like Felix’s had.

“Fuck,” Dimitri said, turning back around to the game. “Who invited that prick?”

“Who do you _think?”_ Ingrid hissed. “But Byleth, Beresu, I know we couldn’t get any of yours and Felix’s friends out here. Can you keep an eye on him?”

Understanding glittered in Byleth’s eyes, but it was Beresu who said, “Of course.”

“Thanks,” said Ingrid.

She turned up an ace and a nine—one too short to win.

-)

By the time the party was in full swing, Felix had switched to whiskey gingers in the hopes of calming his churning stomach. So far, Catherine had apparently made good on her word and Miklan stayed in his lane, but it was making him nervous. Miklan _never _stayed in his lane.

“What can I get for you?” came a familiar voice from behind the bar.

Felix blinked—once, twice, thrice—but no, it was definitely Claude von Riegan behind the bar, wearing the Silver Maiden uniform. “The fuck?”

A grin spread across the owner of the Golden Deer’s face. “Good to see you too, Felix.”

It didn’t compute. “How are you here?”

Claude shrugged. “Pulled some strings.”

“Hang on, let me be more precise. _Why _are you here?”

“Because _here…” _Claude pointedly swung his glance round the room. “...is where things are happening.”

Much as he wanted to, Felix couldn’t refute the logic. It must have shown on his face, too, because Claude burst into laughter.

“Don’t think too hard on it,” he said with a wink. “Now really, what can I get for you?”

Felix shook his head and set down his empty rocks glass. “Can I get another whiskey ginger and a vodka cranberry?”

Claude nodded and set to work. For a moment, Felix thought he might be left in blessed silence.

And then Claude said, “I think that guy who came into my bar the other day is with the mob.”

Felix scowled. “That’s not news.”

“Oh? And did you not want the _actual_ news?

Felix was in no mood. “Spit it out, von Riegan.”

“Rumor has it, the Fhirdiad mob is getting desperate.” He punctuated his sentence by thumping both drinks on the bar. “They’re contracting externally, now.”

“Dammit.” Felix’s brow furrowed deeper.

“Worse,” Claude added, “they want to move tonight.”

"_Fuck."_

Someone came up beside Felix to order a drink, and the conversation was forcibly cut off. “Thanks for the drinks,” Felix added.

Claude nodded, his grin not quite reaching his eyes. “Watch yourself out there, Fraldarius.” He gestured with his eyes towards the poker tables.

Miklan was gone.

Varley County was still spilling beers and slinging cards, but Miklan was no longer with them. He wasn’t with Catherine and Shamir, who were across the room talking to a burly man with a shirt that was open to nearly his navel, and he wasn’t with Sylvain and Ingrid at Aegis’ table either.

Felix squinted harder across the smoky room, and realized—neither was Annette.

Spikes of anxiety shot up his spine and into his skull. _Easy, Felix. She probably just went to the bathroom. Right?_

That was logical. Bathroom break. Right. He set their glasses back down on the bar and pulled out his phone.

**Felix: **where are you?

When she didn’t immediately respond like she usually did, his anxiety grew. He was being insane, he knew, but Miklan was _missing_, and so was Annette, and she had pissed him off at Rodrigue’s wake, his funeral, and pretty much every interaction since. And Claude had just warned him about the mob moving tonight.

Ingrid would tell him he was being paranoid, and Sylvain would make a half-hearted joke about how whipped he was, but Felix couldn't shake the feeling that something was very wrong, and Miklan Gautier was at the heart of it.

And so he went to the one person who was maybe, just possibly, crazy enough to believe him.

“Felix?” Dimitri’s good eye went wide. “What are you doing here?”

Hubert and Edelgard were studying Felix warily, as though he were a bomb instead of a human being. “Have you guys seen Annette?” he asked, lowly.

“Isn’t she with you?” Hubert asked.

Edelgard rolled her eyes. “Or Ingrid and Sylvain?”

“She _was.”_

Brows furrowed all across their table.

“Also,” Felix added, bracing himself for the inevitable backlash that would come after this, “you guys seen Miklan anywhere recently?”

At once, Dimitri’s ire rose. It was a physical, tangible change in his demeanor, and for once, Felix was glad to see he _hadn’t _changed.

“Now that you mention it,” Edelgard said, “no. I haven’t.”

“Was that her drink?” Hubert asked, and at Felix’s nod, he held a hand out for it. “I will ask around.”

“I’ll check the bathroom.” Edelgard was on her feet and moving through the crowd faster than Felix could blink.

In the imperfect silence that settled over their table, Dimitri and Felix shared what felt like the first honest glance in a long time.

“You think it’s Miklan?” Dimitri asked.

“Yeah,” said Felix.

Dimitri was suddenly on his feet, towering over Felix and everyone else in his vicinity. “I’ll help you.”

The irony was not lost on either of them.

-)

“Wake up, sweetheart.”

The cloth was roughly ripped over Annette’s head, and the searing fluorescent lighting made her wince. She tried to steady her breathing as she glanced about wildly, trying to place something, _anything. _The last thing she remembered was coming out of the lobby bathroom.

Her hands were zip-tied behind her back and she had been roughly shoved into a chair. She noted a large, white bed and a modern-looking armchair, as well as a few other generic pieces of furniture before it finally dawned on her that she was in a hotel room, probably on the Silver Maiden’s upper floors.

And standing across from her was Miklan Gautier and Axe-head from Varley County.

“Mornin’,” Miklan said cheerfully. 

Annette hocked as much spit as she could muster at him.

Miklan stepped lightly out of the way, especially for someone of his size. Axe-head laughed hoarsely, and earned himself an elbow in the ribs for his trouble.

“You’re gonna wanna be nicer to me than that, sweetheart,” Miklan said. “I’m about to make your life very difficult.”

Thoughts, insults, and accusations whirled in her mind, but nothing Annette came up with could quite encompass what she felt, what she meant. And so she settled for as hateful a glare as she had ever thrown.

_Think like Felix. What has he told you about his Seiros training?_

There was “breathe in to take up as much space when they tie you, so that when you exhale there’s less of you,” but that was already caput. There was also the failed afternoon of learning to fence, during which Annette had tripped over her feet, Felix’s, and then, very memorably, Crusher’s, before they both decided that maybe fencing wasn’t for her the way axe-throwing was.

She noted a short axe glittering in Axe-head’s belt in the fluorescent lighting, and knew at once that she needed it.

“Am I being punked?”

This time both Miklan and Axe-head snorted.

“Are you even old enough to have seen that show?” Axe-head asked.

“Sure,” Annette said. “Jackass, too.”

Miklan’s laughter cut out, but Axe-head’s grew only louder. “Real cute, Annie,” the older Gautier said. “I bet little Frad likes that mouth of yours.”

Warmth crept into Annette’s face but she refused to dwell on it. “What’s it to you?”

“A lot, actually.” Miklan folded his arms across his chest, and leaned against the cabinet below the flatscreen mounted on the wall. “Axe-head, friend, would you kindly grab my kit?”

“Sure, Bandit.” The other man disappeared into the attached bathroom.

“Now, Annie, dear...” Miklan picked up a syringe from where it sat beside him, and flicked it a few times to get the liquid within to settle. “...I’m gonna need you to hold still.”

-)

“Alright,” said Dimitri, slipping his hand into his suit jacket pocket, “time to make trouble.”

The worn-wood handle of Areadbhar gleamed as he slipped it into his sleeve.

He led the way down a stark, steel-grey hallway devoid of the lights and glamour of the rest of the Silver Maiden. They passed offices, unassuming closets, and Lord-knew-what-else as they went, and Felix found his anxiety was kept at bay so long as he kept moving.

“How did you know this was here?” Felix asked quietly.

“Saw the pit bosses use it.”

They got a few more paces down the hall, and then Dimitri seemed to have a thought. “Felix,” he said, turning to the man, “you know this is mob territory, right?”

“Figured, yeah.”

“_Felix_,” Dimitri said again, his brows knitting together, “you may need to defend yourself. Are you prepared for that?”

“Don’t be stupid.” Felix tried to brush past him, but Dimitri was both too large and too much in the way.

“They’re probably gonna try to kill you. Because of me.”

It set Felix back more than he cared to admit, but he pushed past it with all the force of a Fraldarius. There was too much at stake to have a panic attack now. “I work for Seiros, now. That’s a Tuesday. Now will you _move?”_

Dimitri gave him one last look that Felix couldn't read, and then the blond man was on the move again.

The hallway was empty—far too empty. They passed the bustling kitchen at one point, narrowly avoiding a chef as she headed to the walk-in across the hall, and nearly made it to the second floor before a sharp voice shouted for them to halt.

Areadbhar shot smoothly to its full length, and a moment later, blood sprayed across the wall behind where a casino employee had once stood.

“Take his sword,” Dimitri ordered. “You’re gonna need it.”

It was a folded-steel katana sharp enough to cut at a prick—which Felix unfortunately did to his finger when he tested the blade. He winced as he held the blade between his hands, taking a few practice swings to get a feel for the length and heft of the borrowed blade.

_Just like fencing sabers._

For a short, absurd moment, he was shot back to Oktoberfest last year, where he’d dueled Petra with foam swords and fenced for the first time in nearly a year. Annette had just begun with Aegis, then; Sylvain and Ingrid weren’t even dating.

Then came a flash of a white suit and gaudy jewelry in a sushi bar.

A vision of the graffitied blue lion on their living room wall.

The visceral fear for Glenn’s guitar in the Golden Deer that night.

And Annette’s pretty blue eyes, blown wide in fear.

His resolve hardened. He could do this. He was the son of the Shield of Faerghus, and he was not going to let anything happen to Annette, so help him God, Thunderstrike Cassandra, and apparently Dimitri Blaiddyd.

Felix swallowed over the lump in his throat. “Good enough. Let’s go.”

The second floor was just as grey, until they turned a corner and suddenly found themselves back in the hotel block. They hurried through beige hallways that all looked the same, and it suddenly occurred to Felix that he had no idea where they were supposed to be going.

“What are we looking for?” Felix grunted.

“Guards,” Dimitri said. “It’s an actual hotel, but they’ll have VIP section or something that’s for the family business.”

-)

Annette’s arm throbbed where Miklan and inoculated her with whatever it was had been in that needle. She was starting to feel flushed and lightheaded, but she wasn’t sure if it was from whatever was in the drug, or a placebo effect. All she knew was Axe-head and his axe had returned, and she needed _out._

“Now, Annie,” Miklan said, “I have an antidote for you right over there.” He gestured towards where Axe-head was holding a briefcase, and the other man nodded. “But first, I’m gonna need you to cooperate with me, okay?”

Annette gave him the most hateful, most Fraldarius-taught glare she had.

“You can be stubborn if you want,” said Miklan. “I’ll tell Axe-head to leave.”

_“No!”_

Annette flushed further at her outburst, but a lazy smile spread across Miklan’s scarred face. “Thought so,” he said. 

She couldn’t risk the axe leaving. She _needed _that thing. Annette cast a glance about, looking for something to stall with while she thought of a way to get at it. “What do you want?” 

“Answers.” Miklan was looming over her now. “What’s Blaiddyd planning?”

“I don’t know,” Annette said truthfully.

“Figured that was a long shot,” Miklan muttered. “But alright, let’s go with something easier—what’s Little Frad planning?”

“I don’t kno—”

A sharp crack rang across the room, and Annette’s face was suddenly on fire.

“Yes, you do,” Miklan said, taking his hand back. “Think harder.”

Annette refused to look at him. “I can’t read your mind. Plans for _what?”_

“For Ailell. I know he was talking to his Seiros buddies, and I wanna know about _what_.”

“They’re running security for the festival.”

A second, sharp crack followed the first, and this time Annette’s eye began to throb.

“Don’t play dumb.” Miklan leaned heavily into her personal space. “Think harder.”

-)

Felix and Dimitri found the VIP floor completely by accident, as it happened. The drummer for Varley County had stopped at one of the upper floor’s vending machines, and they had followed his awful purple mohawk up to the fourteenth floor, where Felix and Dimitri now lurked around the corner to the room said drummer was standing in front of, cool as you please.

“Bad taste and bad music,” Felix muttered. “He’s drinking a Monster.”

“Varley County has always been an Enbarr mob front to keep an eye on me,” Dimitri said. “Hubert confirmed that a few days ago.”

Felix didn’t ask how.

“So, what’s your plan?” he hissed instead.

Areadbhar once again telescoped to its fill length. “I’ll go in first, do what I do best. You cover my six.”

And Dimitri shot off like a bottle rocket.

Varley County’s drummer yelped and dropped his Monster, his hand immediately reaching for something in his jacket pocket. He dodged Dimitri’s lance and the weapon slammed into the wall with enough force to splinter the wood.

A pistol gleamed in the man’s hand when he withdrew it from his jacket pocket, and Felix didn’t think—just moved. He brought the stolen katana around to striking range and slashed at the man’s center of gravity.

He dropped the pistol with a second yelp, and then the Areadbhar ran him through. 

Dimitri stooped to pick up the pistol, checked that the chamber was loaded, and then nodded to Felix. 

“Open the door,” Felix growled.

-)

“I can do this all night, you know,” Miklan said airily. “Really, I don’t have anywhere else to be.”

Annette’s eye was throbbing to the point that she could no longer see out of it, and her midsection had bruises that would definitely be visible in her show outfit on Saturday. Miklan had not yet believed a word she said.

“I _told you,” _Annette said, trying and failing to keep the desperation (and exasperation) out of her voice. “_I don’t know!”_

“I told you we should have grabbed baby Galatea,” Axe-head muttered.

Miklan rolled his eyes. “You know that would have been worse.”

Annette shuddered to think how much worse Ingrid’s reaction would have been to this… _torture. _The word seemed absurd to apply to real life, but that’s all she could describe this as. 

Miklan sighed. “Axe-head, would you kindly take my kit out to my car?”

Axe-head’s eyebrow lifted. “You know that’ll kill her, right?”

“Yeah,” said Miklan, as though talking to someone very dense. “That's the plan. What _do _they feed you, in Enbarr?”

Panic sang in Annette’s blood and her stomach fell into her shoes. She had no idea how to use Miklan’s poison kit, but she knew that if Axe-head left with it, she could very well die. 

She screwed her eyes shut tight and took a deep breath.

“That’s a good girl,” Miklan said, “deep breaths. It’ll all be over in a few.”

With every ounce of her courage and rage, Annette shot forward out of her seat and headbutted Miklan directly in the gut, dragging her chair with her.

He gave a startled “_Ooof!” _at the point of impact, and they both fell sideways into the nearby table console.

Miklan scrabbled at the console to get back to his feet, and managed to elbow Annette’s already-black eye in the process. She growled in pain and smashed her forehead into his lower jaw.

Strong, calloused hands wrapped around her arms and tried to yank her back. Annette struggled against it, smashing at shins with her heels and trying to free her elbow to smash into her assailant’s face. Damn this zip tie! 

She caught a glimpse of the axe she’d been eyeing on his belt, and dove for it.

That was the exact moment the door banged open, and Miklan shouted, _“Fuck!”_

Annette’s consciousness got a little hazy after that. She vaguely recognized Dimitri’s voice as he warned her he was going to pick her up, but it was Felix’s pained, wordless howl that carried her into oblivion.


End file.
